


Somewhere Close to You

by tvlerblack



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Demons, M/M, Magic, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2019-05-18 20:54:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 46,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14860134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tvlerblack/pseuds/tvlerblack
Summary: “You remember Seth Rollins?” Kevin asked by way of greeting.Dean arched an eyebrow, hopping onto one of the stools in front of the bar. “Seth Rollins? The man who told me he loved me for three years, then stabbed me in the back and tried to kill me, all to sell his soul to the King? No, can’t say I do.”“A shame,” Kevin said, quite seriously, “because there are two men here who would like to hire you to kill him. Well, hire us, actually.”-In which Dean Ambrose and Kevin Owens are assassins hired to slay the Kingslayer, Sami Zayn is a notorious thief along for the ride, Seth Rollins is the almost-legendary prince who brought down the King of Kings, and Finn Balor is the demon whose soul has been bound to Seth's by an ancient spell neither one of them knows how to break...even if they both wanted to.





	1. Enter

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently I've decided to go ahead with the Ambrollins/Ballins fantasy AU I was talking about. Oh boy.

“You remember Seth Rollins?” Kevin asked by way of greeting.

Dean arched an eyebrow, hopping onto one of the stools in front of the bar. “Seth Rollins? The man who told me he loved me for three years, then stabbed me in the back and tried to kill me, all to sell his soul to the King? No, can’t say I do.”

“A shame,” Kevin said, quite seriously, “because there are two men here who would like to hire you to kill him. Well, hire us, actually.”

Kevin poured Dean a glass of his favorite drink—Kevin’s own homemade whiskey, so strong it could knock out a Dragon for days—without bothering to ask. He placed the glass in front of Dean, but Dean did not touch it. He was staring at Kevin, mouth agape. Kevin hardly glanced at him, turning back to resume wiping down the bar.

Finally, Dean managed, “To…to do _what_?”

“To kill him,” Kevin repeated patiently. “They came in here asking if I knew of an assassin brave enough or just reckless enough to attempt taking the life of the Kingslayer. I thought you might want revenge for him trying to kill you and all, so I offered up your name. I hope you don’t mind.”

Dean just stared, mouth still hanging open. Kevin’s words spun around his head like insects, but his mind could not seem to wrap itself around them.

A hand clamped down over his shoulder. He tensed immediately, and if he had not been in such a state of shock the owner of that hand would likely have lost it in the next second, but as it was said owner sidled unharmed into the space between Dean and the stool right of him. “Well, well,” said the man, grinning, “this is the infamous Dean Ambrose, is it?”

“He doesn’t look like much,” said a voice from Dean’s other side. Another man pulled himself onto the stool there, propping one elbow on the bar and tilting his head slightly, appraising Dean.

“He isn’t much,” Kevin said, still not looking up. “But he’s taken out men whose very names would make you two fools shit your pants.”

The man on Dean’s left scoffed, but seemed remarkably unoffended. He also seemed remarkably unimpressed. “So they say.”

The man on Dean’s right laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

The two men were similar in appearance, both bald, both with identical bushy black beards. The man on Dean’s right was very tall and muscular, with broad shoulders and thick, powerful arms. The man on Dean’s left was more than a head shorter than the other, but he was just as powerfully built. The two might have been brothers.

Tall-and-Bald still had his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean shrugged it off, forcefully. “You want to slay the Kingslayer?” He grabbed the glass Kevin had set out for him and took a good long drink. The sudden fire in his belly was a welcome shock to his system. He felt steadier, clearer. If he actually imbibed the whole thing he’d be feeling the exact opposite before long, but at the moment it was what he needed. Kevin probably had known that. Kevin was probably also counting on the alcohol clouding his common sense, so Dean pushed the glass, a little more than half full now, away.

Dean studied both of the men. They looked like mercenaries, dressed in scuffed leather jerkins, dark breeches, and black cloaks that had seen better days. Dean glimpsed the hilts of swords under the folds of their cloaks. Bold, then, or just stupid. No one but imperial officials were supposed to carry weapons in the cities, and even with the fall of the King and the collapse of the castle such laws were still enforced, in some places more strenuously than they had been before. Some degree of order was maintained by the nobles, no longer supported by a king but desperately holding on to as much power as they could using their wealth and private armies. If one was caught with a weapon by a soldier working for one of the nobles, they would be arrested, and likely executed. Such severe punishment would not have happened under the King, but the King was dead, and the bewildered and uncertain nobles were terrified of losing everything, which made them more inclined to be harsh on lawbreakers, especially anyone that could be seen as a potential rebel. Dean himself only carried a small dagger hidden in his boot.

“Of course _we_ don’t want to slay him,” Short-and-Bald said easily. “We want _you_ to slay him, haven’t you been listening? And we’re willing to pay good money for it.”

Normally the only question Dean would have had was “How much?” In this case, however, he had other things on his mind. “Why?” His voice might have shaken a little on the word. That was the one question he _never_ asked—no respectable assassin ever did—but he still struggled to fully grasp what was being asked of him.

_Seth._

“Why?” he asked again, louder. “You two don’t look like you were pawns of the King.”

Short-and-Bald looked at him for a long moment, eyes like shards of obsidian, hard and opaque. He signaled to Kevin to get them drinks and Kevin acquiesced. “He has something,” Short-and-Bald said, softly. “Something very precious to us.”

“Which is where I come in, I guess,” a friendly voice joined in. Sami popped up from behind the bar, where he had presumably been sitting, hiding like a kid playing a game. He leapt right onto the counter, swinging his legs over the other side so he was perched on the edge next to Short-and-Bald. Both men recoiled, startled. Dean, quite accustomed to Sami’s antics by now, didn’t react at all.

Slender as a blade and sometimes almost as sharp, with auburn curls and a trim red beard, Sami Zayn was full of his usual alacrity, hazel eyes bright with what seemed an almost perpetual excitement. “I’m gonna be coming along on his job,” he informed Dean cheerfully. “Not just because it involves Seth, of course. The best thief in the Kingdom should always be there when precious items need to be stolen.” He grinned at the two men. “So, what does Seth have that’s so precious?”  

The two men seemed suspicious, regarding Sami as if they didn’t quite know what to make of him. They looked at each other, and ultimately seemed to reach a resolution.

Short-and-Bald took a swig of the drink Kevin had set down for him and glanced around. The bar was empty, but he still seemed wary of being overheard. He lowered his voice. “What he has is something very precious and very, very powerful. The heart of one possessed by a demon.”

A hush fell over them. Shock briefly crossed Sami’s expression. He and Kevin exchanged a look.

“The _what_?” Dean asked, bewildered. He felt a prickling of trepidation, like the tip of a dagger at the base of his spine.  

“The heart of one possessed by a demon.” Kevin was grinning now, leaning on the bar near where Sami was sitting. “Of course Rollins would have gotten his hands on something like that. I’m almost proud of the kid.”

“It’s Finn, isn’t it?” Sami looked calm again, but he wasn’t smiling anymore and all color had left his face. Short-and-Bald turned to him and nodded, grimly.

“It’s Finn.” He sounded sad. He took another drink.

“Who?” Dean was even more bewildered.

“Finn Balor,” Kevin explained, sounding practically giddy. “You’d know him by the name he used to have, Prince Devitt. He ruled the Kingdom of the New Sun for a time, before AJ Styles came in and effectively chased him into exile. That was when he adopted the name Finn Balor and went underground.”

“Which would make you—” Sami pointed at Short-and-Bald, “Karl Anderson, and you—” he gestured in Tall-and-Bald’s direction, “Luke Gallows. Former captains of his personal guard. Am I correct?”

Short-and-Bald—Anderson—nodded.

Understanding began to set in. A chill wormed its way up Dean’s back and settled around his heart, raising the skin on his forearms in hard ridges of gooseflesh. “Devitt?” Somehow, he managed to keep his voice even. Mostly. “Prince _Devitt_? Seth has his _heart_? As in, literally? How is that even—What does that even mean?”

Anderson’s hands clenched into fists, the knuckles white. His eyes glinted with cold fury. “Rollins tricked Finn, lied to him, and then he killed him. Only you can’t really kill a man possessed by a demon, so he carved out Finn’s heart and used it to bind Finn’s soul to him. We haven’t been able to figure out the spell he used, but now he has Finn’s spirit, and the Demon, under his command. We can’t let that stand. We can’t just—” He broke on the last word. He looked down, fingers loosening, seeming unable to go on.

“He needs to die,” Gallows said, softly. “We need to break the spell he cast, and free Finn. The only way we can do that is if he’s dead and Finn’s heart is taken from him. He still has it. The body of the one possessed by a demon becomes the demon’s body, the man’s heart becomes the demon’s heart, and so long as the demon remains the body cannot die. Finn’s heart still beats, and through it Rollins controls his soul, and the Demon.”

Sami looked stricken. Kevin looked ecstatic. Dean shook his head.

“How do you know all this?” he asked, harshly.

“We saw,” Anderson said. “We…were there.” He shuddered, seemed to try to suppress it, unsuccessfully.

Kevin straightened, intrigued. “You saw what happened between Seth and Finn?”

“Not exactly.” Gallows was ashen-faced, staring at the counter. “We were there with Finn in the castle, that night. The night Rollins killed the King. We saw Rollins with the heart in his hands, we saw the Demon by his side. We fled. There was nothing else we could do. It took us a year to find out what happened, what Rollins had done.”

“So now we’re here,” Anderson said, raising his glass and then downing the rest of it in one. He indicated to Kevin to pour him another. “We have Finn’s body, you see. Still alive.” He grimaced. “Alive, but…empty, soulless. His soul is bound to the Demon’s soul, and Rollins has both trapped, chained to his own. But if Rollins dies and the heart is returned to the body, Finn can be…revived. Or, at least, we believe it can be done. So we need to take back his heart. He doesn’t…he doesn’t deserve this, to be trapped like this, to be put through this hell.”

Sami put a hand over his mouth. He looked pale and thoughtful.

Dean pushed away from the bar, the scraping of the stool’s legs against the floor making Anderson jump a little as if torn from his gruesome memories, and stood up. “This is ridiculous,” he said matter-of-factly. “A demon is impossible to fight. Seth himself was practically impossible to fight even before he killed the King of Kings, so if he has a _demon_ under his control now, he’s untouchable. So if you think—”

“Ambrose is right,” Kevin interjected. “There is a spell Seth could have used. It’s necromancy, my friends. Seth always had a talent for it, but he’s rarely used it since he left Jimmy Jacobs and The Fall. If he’s tapping into that power again, and if he has a demon at his beck and call, you’re fucked. We all are, as a matter of fact.” He smiled pleasantly.  

“Necromancy?” Gallows questioned, confused and disbelieving. “His magic is fire, elemental magic. _White_ magic.”

Kevin laughed. “Seth has both white and black magic. He likes to pretend he doesn’t. You see, there was once a man named Jimmy Jacobs. A necromancer, and one of the best. Well, _worst_ , in the case of such magic. He taught everything he knew to his favorite student, an ambitious young man named Tyler Black. Until he turned on this student, and this student came within a hairsbreadth of taking his life. It was then the student discovered he not only had an inherent talent for black magic, but one for white magic, as well. The student, still quite ambitious but now seeing the world in a very different way, vowed to no longer practice necromancy and changed his name to Seth Rollins. Apparently he’s decided to forsake those vows. They wouldn’t be the first vows he’s forsaken.”

Anderson and Gallows looked at each other. Anderson grabbed his second drink. Gallows reached for his for the first time.

“But this is why we’ve come to you,” Anderson said, after a moment. He glanced between Kevin and Dean. “You two know Rollins. You’ve both nearly killed him in the past. You’ve fought him and the King of Kings, and nearly were victorious. We trust you’ll be able to get the job done this time.”

Dean barked out a sardonic laugh. “Oh, you _trust_ , do you?” He discovered he was furious, and wasn’t exactly sure why.

_Seth._

“No,” he said, flatly. “I have no interest in seeing Seth again, and I have no interest in dying, especially by his hand. Have a good night, boys.” He started to walk out, but Gallows, quick as lighting despite his size, jumped to his feet and snatched Dean’s wrist. In an instant Dean had his knife out and at the man’s throat, but before he could pierce flesh he was on the floor, Sami standing over him, one boot planted firmly on his chest.

“Come on, Dean,” Sami chided. “You know better than that. No blood is to be spilled in Kevin’s bar.”

“I run a respectable establishment, you know,” Kevin said mildly.

Dean would have stabbed Sami if he hadn’t been completely paralyzed. Even his lungs had stopped working. Only his heart was unchained, pounding desperately in his chest. Then Sami stepped away, breaking the spell. Dean took in a great gasping breath, turning over onto his side and clutching at his body as if to assure himself it was still there.

Anderson reached inside his cloak and took out a large brown bag. He dropped it onto the counter. The sound of clinking coins was very loud. Gallows retrieved a similar bag from inside his own cloak and placed it next to the first bag. Somehow the sound of clinking coins seemed even louder this time. 

“There’s one million gold in each of these,” Anderson said. “One for you, Owens, and one for you, Ambrose. When Seth Rollins is dead and the heart is in our possession, we’re prepared to give you both ten million gold.”

“It’s all the money we have left from serving the Prince,” Gallows said, with a tight smile. “Do this and every coin is yours.”

Stunned silence followed this. Dean was still on the floor, propped up on his elbow now. He stared wide-eyed at the bags on the counter. Eleven million gold? That was more money than he’d make if he was hired for an assassination every week for the rest of his life. He could hardly fathom that kind of wealth.

Kevin regarded the bags with mild interest. Sami pouted. “Why do we always have to share?” he complained, walking back over to the bar. Kevin ignored him, turning to Dean, who was slowly getting back to his feet.

“I’m joining you and Sami,” he said, and grinned. “So what do you say, Ambrose? You get revenge, and we both get rich. How about it?”

Dean looked at the bags of coins for a very long time. He knew how dangerous Seth had become. He had seen the castle in flames, that magnificent edifice of stone gazing down upon the entire kingdom transformed to a towering inferno. He had felt it, like everyone else in the kingdom had, when the King died. And he had known it was Seth, Seth had finally done it. He had known, then, that he would never see Seth again. Whether Seth survived or not, whatever tethers might remain to hold them together were burned away, like the castle and everything—everyone—inside it.

He walked over and snatched one of the bags. He jabbed a finger at Kevin. “I fucking swear, Owens, if this is the one time I trust you and this is the one time I end up dead—”

Kevin waved a hand. “If you’re dead, I’m probably dead, too, Ambrose. That’ll even us out, won’t it?” Malice capered in his eyes. “Besides, I have a plan.”   


	2. A Strange Gift

_The gardens were vast, a sprawling man-made expanse circling around the castle like a verdant moat. Countless different species of flowers and bushes and trees combated for space and sunlight, a chaos of color and thriving, breathing life creating a stark contrast and admirable compliment to the orderly stone walls that loomed over it. The gardens were interwoven with dozens of little streams that provided irrigation and fed the castle’s main source of water, a small lake enclosed within its walls._

_In the morning mist, the world little more than shadows and suggestion, the great castle a vague shape against the brightening sky, it was easy to forget this place had been sculpted by the hands of men. It was easy to lose sight of that huge towering shape when ducking underneath the canopy of the trees, hiding in between bushes, stepping carefully over flowers and animal burrows. It was easy to forget Hunter’s voice, alternately commanding and gentle, whispering promises and weaving fantastic impossible visions of their future, when listening to the birds start up their serenades. Seth liked it out here at the break of dawn. There was peace, out here. There was solitude._

_Of course, peace and solitude meant a lot of time to think._

_Sometimes he thought about Dean._

_Sometimes he thought about Roman._

_Sometimes he thought about the three of them, believing themselves invincible, untouchable, strong in their bond of friendship and love, this deep fundamental connection between them that had always been meant to be and would never be broken, never, never._

_Mostly he thought about mounting Hunter’s head on his own golden throne._

_Some mornings when he wanted not to think at all he brought a book with him, and a lamp to use until there was enough light that he no longer needed it. Most of the books were on magic, its history and the legendary—and notorious—sorcerers who had perfected the magic they had been born with. Sometimes the books were interesting, sometimes ponderous and dull, sometimes outright laughable, but Seth believed they were all worth reading. It was a hobby Hunter encouraged. Whenever he went off to other kingdoms he came back with a book, usually several books, for Seth. Seth had his own growing little library in his room._

_“I told you, you will want for nothing,” Hunter had said when he gave Seth the first of these books, one big hand curling around the back of Seth’s neck, his smile warm and fond._

_This morning it was chilly and damp. It wasn’t raining, but there was a light drizzle in the air. Seth took shelter under an ancient oak tree, the folds of his cloak wrapped around his book—an impressive tome on the history of healing magic—in an attempt to keep it dry. He used a tiny amount of his magic to keep a low steady heat emanating from the cloak, thinking it might help. It did, mostly, but still the pages had started to crinkle. He thought he should probably take the book in, but he didn’t want to move. He had slept badly the night before and he was exhausted, trying to concentrate on what he was reading and not doze off. There was a chickadee singing contently above his head and the lulling sound was doing nothing to help him stay awake._

_Despite his best efforts, he had been nodding off, when suddenly his eyes flew open and his head snapped up._

_He was being watched._

_Wide awake now, he closed the book. He took off his cloak, carefully wrapped it around the book, and set both aside. He stood up slowly, scanning his surroundings, one hand on the hilt of the sword strapped to his back. Already the temperature of his skin was rising, the edges of his irises glowing a subdued red-orange. The flame inside the lamp next to him burned brighter, dancing off the glass that encased it. The chickadee, perhaps not liking the unexpected wave of heat that washed over the oak tree and everything near it, fell silent. Seth heard it fly off._

_He stepped forward. The whisper of his boots over the wet grass seemed very loud. It was still dark and it was difficult to make out anything among the dense foliage. He was certain there was someone else here. Or something. It didn’t feel entirely human, this presence. It was like a frigid wind had blown through, a winter gust displaced in a summer dawn. A shadow moved within shadows, somewhere close. He recognized this magic, and it was like a shard of ice piercing his heart._

Necromancy.

_No, wait. That wasn’t quite accurate. This was different, darker, colder—_

_Closer._

_Seth spun around, drawing his sword in a flash of flame. No one was there, but in the light of his burning blade he saw something on top of his cloak. Puzzled and wary, he walked carefully back to where he had been sitting, his sword still in hand. He kneeled next to his cloak. He didn’t touch the object, but he studied it closely, curious._

_It was a flower. A black rose. Its stem had been cleanly cut. It hadn’t come from this garden; they had plenty of roses, but no black ones. And there was something odd about it. He looked at it for a long moment, ambivalent, and finally reached out and picked it up, carefully avoiding its thorns. He uttered a little gasp of surprise and wonder. The rose seemed entirely normal, except for the fact it appeared to be frozen somehow, its petals hard and unyielding. It was like the flower was made of stone._

_He looked around, confused, still on guard. There was no one. The presence was gone. Instinctively, he knew whoever—whatever—it had been had left him this strange gift._

_He sheathed his sword, the flames dispersing with his magic. The glow faded from his eyes. He cradled the rose in his hands, turning it over, studying it. A spell had been cast on it. He sensed the magic, felt it tingle in the tips of his fingers, soft and cold like newly fallen snow, black as a starless sky. The same sort of magic he had felt from whoever had been watching him. Black magic, certainly, but not necromancy. Something older, more powerful, and very much not human._

_Shaken, he gathered up his things and went back inside. He hid the rose in his room, in the ornate wooden chest where he kept his ceremonial outfit._

***

“So what is this plan of yours?” Ambrose asked sharply, once Gallows and Anderson had departed. He had a look on his face like he’d been punched very hard in the gut. Sami could sympathize; he felt much the same way.

Kevin, on the contrary, still looked like he was quite enjoying himself. “I’ll tell you when we set out. Tomorrow morning. That doesn’t conflict with your schedule, I trust.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Kevin,” he said, voice dangerously quiet, “tell me the fucking plan.”

Kevin offered up his most charming—in other words, his most unctuous—smile and said nothing. Dean glared at him. Kevin still said nothing. Finally Dean let out a sigh of frustrated resignation, grabbed his half-full glass, downed the rest of it, threw the glass back at Kevin, and stood up. He took his bag of gold and left without a word.

“Meet us here tomorrow morning!” Kevin called after him. “And I mean _morning_ , as in actual morning, not two in the afternoon when you finally crawl out of bed!”

The door slammed.

Kevin huffed out a laugh and turned to place the dirty glass in the sink. Sami watched him, pensive.

“Kevin,” Sami said at length, “what _is_ your plan? You can’t actually be planning to kill Seth. Even if you thought you _could_ kill Seth, and I know you’re not stupid enough to think that—” Kevin shot him a sour look, which Sami ignored, “—you have to know I’d never let you.”

Kevin waved a hand. “Of course I’m not planning on killing Seth. You should know me better than that, Sami.” He poured Sami a glass of berry juice. Sami didn’t drink alcohol; it slowed one’s thoughts and made one’s hands clumsy, and there was nothing more detrimental to a thief than slow thoughts and clumsy hands.

Sami tilted his head slightly. “So? What are we doing? And why involve Ambrose?”

Kevin scoffed. “Do you feel sorry for him?”

Sami studied him. “I can understand how he must feel,” he said, gently, and felt just a touch of satisfaction when he saw the way Kevin’s shoulders tensed the slightest bit. He accepted the glass of juice gratefully.

“We’re taking Ambrose along because when we find Seth, I don’t want us to be his focus.” Kevin gave him a significant look.

Sami’s eyes widened. He spun around so he was perched on the opposite edge of the counter. “You want Finn’s heart, don’t you?”

“I want that heart.”

Sami let that sink in. He shook his head. “For what? It’s not as if you could use the power of the Demon. You’re not a necromancer.”

Kevin grinned. “You have to be a necromancer to summon a demon; you don’t have to be a necromancer to make a deal with one.”

Sami’s brow furrowed. Then the implications of this statement hit him and he laughed, loudly, because the depth of his shock didn’t seem to permit any other reaction. “You want to _make a deal_ with the Demon? With _Finn’s_ demon?”

Kevin’s grin broadened. “I do. But don’t worry; I have no interest in being possessed.”

It took a moment for it to register for Sami that yes, Kevin was serious. For a long while he just sat there, staring, an almost comical expression of utter bafflement on his face. Kevin came over and poked him in the center of the forehead. That snapped him out of it.

“If—” The word caught in his throat; he swallowed and tried again. “If you don’t intend to let the Demon possess you, what exactly kind of deal do you think you’re going to strike with it? As far as I know, demons have no interests other than finding themselves vessels with a strong enough life-force for them to feast on for several decades until it’s all used up. If you’re not willing to give yourself as a vessel, you’ve got nothing to offer it. And you can’t use its power unless it’s possessing you, so I don’t—”

Kevin pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. “Freedom, that’s what I have to offer it. I break the spell Seth has on it and Finn, and in exchange it gives me a little of its power.”

Sami was even more confused. “That’s possible?”

“It is for me.”

Sami considered this. He’d never fully understood Kevin’s magic, or how it worked. “I thought you could only absorb the power of other humans?”

“I would be. As long as the Demon is possessing Finn, they are one and the same, and so are their powers, their life-forces, their energies, whatever you want to call it.”

“That makes Finn a demon, not the Demon a human.”

Kevin shrugged. “Semantics.”

Sami shook his head again, incredulous. “You’re sure about this?”

“Yes.” Kevin’s eyes were alight, his smile vicious, hungry. “Think about that kind of power, Sami. With it I could take over this godforsaken kingdom. Or burn it to the ground. Depending on my mood at the moment.”

“Seth’s not going to just sit back and let this happen, Kev.”

“Of course not. That’s what Ambrose is for, didn’t I just tell you that? You know how those two are. They’ll be so focused on each other neither one of them will notice that us and the heart have gone until it’s too late.”

“I don’t think I like it. There’s a lot of ways this could go wrong.”

Kevin placed his hands on either side of Sami’s face. “Just trust me. Have I ever led you wrong? Well, besides that one time, I mean. And that was years ago.”

Sami frowned at him. “And what about Finn? And Gallows and Anderson? Are we going to give them Finn’s heart at the end of all this?”

“I’ll have no need of it. And I want that money, so of course.”

Sami started to say something—it’s not the _money_ he was thinking about, it was Finn, Finn with his brilliant blue eyes and bright smiles, Finn who liked making little wood carvings and watching the river flow by his house—but he stopped. Finn hadn’t really been his friend, if he was being honest with himself. They had only even met a couple of times, here in Kevin’s bar.

“Seth’s not going to be very happy with us,” he said at last.

Kevin rolled his eyes. “He’ll get over it. He always does. Hell, in the end he’ll probably join us, especially if we end up finishing the job he started and turn this land to ash.”

He turned away. Sami shifted and jumped off the counter on the customer side. He sat down heavily on the nearest stool. There was a brief period of silence. He turned the glass of juice around and around between his palms, staring at it but not really seeing it.

“You think it’s true, then?” His voice was soft, barely above a whisper.

Kevin was just finishing cleaning the glasses Dean, Gallows, and Anderson had used. He glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“Seth killed Finn.” Sami folded his arms on the counter and rested in chin on them. “Why? I thought…”

“Well, they were lovers,” Kevin said wryly. “For Seth that was probably reason enough.”

Sami raised his head, startled. “What?”

“Finn never mentioned it?” Kevin turned around, drying his hands with a towel and looking amused. “He fell hopelessly in love with Seth the moment he set eyes on him. He told me as much. I told him he wasn’t the first, but he just laughed. Apparently he didn’t think what happened to Ambrose would happen to him. Apparently he was wrong. Well…probably.”

Sami absorbed this information. “Lovers…I had no…wait, ‘probably’?”

Suddenly Kevin didn’t look so amused. His face was almost somber. “It’s possible Seth did kill Finn, and used his latent black magic to take control of the Demon. I’m sure it occurred to him that the power of a demon would be quite helpful in taking down the King of Kings. It might have even been the reason he slept with Finn in the first place. But…” He trailed off briefly. “But I think it’s just as likely Finn did something stupid.”

“Something stupid?”

“They were both planning to kill the King, you know. They were going to overthrow him together.” Kevin paused, cross his arms over his chest. “Maybe they went through with it. Maybe something went wrong. And maybe Finn did something very stupid.”

***

_His dreams were strange. Swirling darkness and a voice that formed no words, but seemed to call his name. He tried to call back to it, but he seemed to have no voice at all._

_Seth woke slowly, and wasn’t sure at first what he was seeing._

_He sat up abruptly, eyes wide. At some point in the night he had rolled over onto the right side of his wide bed, curling up with his arms around the pillow on that side. Lying on top of the other pillow was a black rose._

_The fire that had been burning in the hearth when he fell into his uneasy sleep had died. A chill had settled over the room, and darkness lay heavy in the pre-dawn. Seth shivered, pulling the coverlet up over his bare torso._

_The window was open. A cool breeze wafted in, rustling the curtains. It had not been open when he went to bed._

_Tentatively, he touched the rose. It was the same as the one he had hidden in the chest at the foot of his bed, a normal flower, except solid as stone. The same aura of magic shrouded it, cold and dark, but unlike anything he had ever felt before._

_After a moment he got out of bed, clutching the rose to his chest. Casting wary glances toward the open window he walked over to his dresser, retrieved a small key from the bottom drawer, and opened the chest. He pushed aside his ceremonial clothes. The rose from yesterday morning was there. As he had suspected, it had not decayed, no petals had fallen. It was as if it had been suspended in time, frozen as it had been when it was picked._

_He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a trembling breath. Kneeling by the chest with the second rose in his lap, he looked at the open window. He didn’t know what to think. It had been a very long time since he had felt so uncertain, so vulnerable. Not frightened, exactly, but…unsettled. Rocked, like the ground had shifted beneath him._

_“What is this?” he murmured, as if the shadows would have an answer. A stronger gust of wind rippled the curtains, ghosted through his hair like a breath._


	3. The Road to Take

_Someone was being tortured. Their anguished screams and half-coherent pleas drifted down the tenebrous corridors of the dungeon, reverberating off the black indifferent walls until they grew into a cacophony. Seth felt a twinge of sorrow and sympathy for the unfortunate man, but it seemed far away, ultimately insignificant, and it wasn’t long before the sounds had faded into the background._

_He was sitting on the cold, damp stone floor outside one of the empty cells, playing with the flame that lit the torch on the wall opposite him. His irises were ringed with smoldering red-orange; he was holding up his right hand, palm turned out toward the torch. He twisted his wrist and the flame shrank, diminishing to little more than an ember. He twisted it back, there was a low_ whoosh _, and the flame exploded large again, crackling heartily, licking at the air as if trying to escape the confines of the torch. He made the flame smaller and then bigger again, over and over, a mindless exercise, simple and thoughtless as breathing._

_Something slithered across his thigh._

_He jumped, startled. The torch burned huge for a moment, washing the corridor in red brilliance, and then it winked out of existence entirely. Seth muttered a curse and reignited it with a snap of his fingers, scrambling to his feet._

_On the floor was a snake, coiling in on itself and hissing reproachfully up at him. It was a bright green-and-black eastern pit viper, about two feet long._

_“Oh, sorry, Vi,” Seth said, honestly contrite. “You scared me.” He sat back down. The viper curled companionably around his forearm, raising her head to regard him with her slit-pupil eyes, tongue flickering. He scratched under her jaw with his finger._

_“What are you doing down here?” he asked her, half-scolding. “This is no place for a snake, especially a familiar. Where’s your witch?”_

_“I prefer warlock. And this is hardly any place for a prince, either, Your Majesty.”_

_Seth looked around. Standing just outside the circle of flickering torchlight, Randy Orton appeared an ethereal figure, tall and powerful and shrouded by the silent stalking menace of a predator. He was dressed all in black, in clothing that would be better suited for a peasant; he never bothered with expensive garments, even when he was visiting the King. It drove Hunter mad._

_“Randy,” Seth greeted with cool courtesy. Randy smiled, a slow, savage curl of delicate lips._

_“Hunter’s looking for you,” he said, sitting beside Seth. He moved without a sound, smooth and graceful. This close, Seth could see patches of his skin that had hardened into scales, a ridged line peeking out from under his collar._

_“I know. That’s why I’m here.”_

_Randy made a face. “How you can stand to be down here, I can’t fathom. Don’t you smell that? Blood and urine and shit.” He cocked his head, listening. “Sounds like Kane’s having fun.”_

_“Do you know who it is?” Seth asked idly._

_“Some fool who tried to assassinate the Queen. Didn’t they tell you?”_

_Seth tensed, but his tone was still casual. “Anyone I know?”_

_Randy’s blue eyes—still the eyes of a man, but the pupils had begun to thin and elongate—glittered with amusement. “Don’t worry, Your Majesty, it’s not Ambrose. Or Owens.”_

_Seth displayed no reaction, but the force of his relief caught him by surprise. Of course he had known it could not be either of them. Dean’s powers made him nigh impossible to pin down and Kevin was too clever—too slippery was perhaps a better way to put it—to be caught. Besides, neither of them ever missed their target._

_“I hadn’t heard,” Seth said. “I’ve been…avoiding people for the last few days. When did it happen?”_

_“Two days ago, according to Hunter, while Stephanie was returning from a visit to the city. Hunter thinks the assassin was hired by one of the nobles. He’s fuming, trying to figure out which one. That’s why you are currently being graced by my presence. He called us all in.”_

_Seth studied him. “Was it you?”_

_Randy laughed. “If it was, I clearly need to find better assassins.”_

_It was neither a confirmation nor a denial, and Seth found he did not really care. “What does Hunter want me for, then?” he inquired, with just a hint of irritation, but he already knew. Hunter would want him present for the council with the nobles for the same reason he always wanted Seth present: to observe his ways and learn them._

_Randy leaned in, his nose brushing the shell of Seth’s ear, his breath hot against Seth’s skin. His voice was low, enticing. “If you want to hide from Hunter, I can think of a better place to go.”_

_Seth shivered, but whether it was with revulsion or desire he wasn’t sure._

_The ill-fated assassin uttered a wailing, piercing cry that seemed to go on and on, rising and rising until Seth thought he might go mad if it did not stop. Randy’s fingertips glided a path up his inner thigh, barely a touch. Vi slithered down over Seth’s stomach and leg to coil up Randy’s arm._

_Seth slapped Randy’s hand away and stood up. “Don’t touch me,” he snapped, and started to walk away. Suddenly there was a hand over his mouth and another gripping his hip and Randy was whispering in his ear again._

_“Come now, you wound me.” Vi wrapped herself around Seth’s neck, just enough pressure to cut off his air._

_The temperature of the corridor skyrocketed, and in an instant Seth’s skin had become as hot as magma. Randy jerked away with a shout and his serpent familiar, shocked by his pain and her own, shot off Seth’s neck like an arrow from a bow. The torch-flame blazed, a pillar of fire reaching to the ceiling, casting them in its blinding light. Seth turned. His eyes seemed to have captured the flame, glowing molten red._

_“Do_ not _touch me,” he said again, quietly, his eyes fire, his voice ice._

_Randy was laughing, holding up his burned hands in a mocking gesture of surrender. “All right, all right. My apologies, Your Majesty.”_

_After a moment, Seth withdrew his magic. The corridor grew cold again and the torch-flame returned to its normal size and strength. Seth blinked, and his eyes were brown once more. He frowned. “Sorry, Vi.” The snake hissed exasperatedly at him and curled up at Randy’s feet, resting her head on the toe of his boot._

_“Oh, sure, you apologize to_ her _.” Randy sounded amused. He lowered his hands to ascertain the damage. His left hand, the hand he’d had on Seth’s hip, had only been seared, but his other hand had been badly burned. The skin of his palm was white and shiny and looked quite painful. Unflinching, he clasped his hands together, and muttered a spell. Seth felt the surge of magic wash over him, thick and weirdly carnal. When Randy spread his palms, they were undamaged. He looked back up at Seth._

_“Now can we get out of here? I find torture distasteful.”_

_Seth cocked an eyebrow._

_“Most of the time,” Randy amended, grinning._

_Seth rolled his eyes and they left the dungeon together. Randy led them out into the gardens. It was a bright, warm day, and breathing in the fresh air Seth thought again of the strange black roses hidden in his room, and that presence he had felt, watching him. Unconsciously he crossed his arms over his chest, trying to fend off the sudden chill beneath his skin._

_He paused near the lilies. They had come up strong this year, whites and yellows and reds and pinks bursting from thick green leaves. “What do you want, Randy?” he asked, turning to the witch—warlock—beside him._

_Randy’s gaze swept over him, lewd and voracious. “You know what I want.”_

_“That’s not all you want, or you would have waited until tonight to harass me.”_

_Randy hummed. He looked around, as if to be sure they were alone, and took a step closer to Seth. Quietly, he said, “I was being watched, earlier, when I arrived here. I felt it.”_

_Seth started, eyes widening._

_“I overheard the other nobles talking, and it seems Charlotte felt like she was being watched, too. And from the look on your face, I’d say you’ve felt something, as well.”_

_Seth almost told him about the roses. Almost. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat and managed, “A couple days ago I was out here, in the gardens. Someone was watching me. I felt…a presence. A dark presence. My first thought was—”_

Jimmy.

_“—a necromancer, but it wasn’t necromancy I sensed. It was something…darker. Older. Something I’d never sensed before.”_

_For a moment, Randy looked uncharacteristically troubled. Vi had wrapped herself loosely around his upper arm and shoulder; absently, he stroked the back of her head. “Strangely, I couldn’t pick up any unfamiliar scents. Neither could Vi. It was like being in the presence of a spirit, knowing there’s something there but not being able to see or hear or feel anything. I thought if anyone would have been able to sense something more…” He cast another look around them. “Was it a sorcerer, could you tell?”_

_“It wasn’t…” Seth paused, abruptly uncertain. “It had magic. Black magic. But it wasn’t human.”_

_Randy must have noticed his ambivalence, but neglected to comment on it. He appeared engrossed in his own thoughts. “A creature of black magic, lurking around the castle of the King of Kings.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll stick around a bit after this pointless council is over. Things seem to be getting interesting.”_

_Seth was about to retort, in protest or admonishment, but then another voice cut in, ringing across the gardens._

_“Your Majesty! Lord Orton! There you are!”_

_It was Jamie Noble, followed closely by Joey Mercury, rushing toward them looking harried. Both men skidded to a halt when they reached Seth and Randy, Jamie pausing to catch his breath._

_“His Highness demands your presence in the throne room.” He gave Seth an apologetic look, as if trying to convey ‘his words, not mine.’ “Right now, he said.”_

_Seth let out a resigned sigh._

_Randy grinned, impish. “Shall we take our time? Walk_ really _slow?”_

_Seth shot him a glare._

***

“There’s one problem with your plan, Kev.” Sami was lying stretched out on top of the bar, gazing at the ceiling and not really seeing it, hands folded on his stomach. “Well, there are several problems, but one in particular that’s bothering me right now. Can you guess what it is?”

“I wouldn’t hazard to,” Kevin said dryly. He was gathering things they would need for the journey they would have to make—food, a change of clothing, bandages and medicinal herbs (including a generous amount of aloe gel; if all went according to plan, they were still unlikely to escape without a few burns), and various weapons to choose from. He cast Sami an exasperated look. “Are you going to help me with any of this?”

Sami went on like he hadn’t heard. “Your plan hinges on offering to break the spell Seth has on the Demon. Do you even know what spell it is?”

“I do, actually. It’s a very, very old spell. Essentially it’s the same spell as the one that binds a demon’s soul to a human’s, except it’s the human, not the demon, that casts it, and it’s incredibly difficult, because one party is unwilling.” He paused. “Well…in theory.”

“In theory,” Sami echoed softly. He had lain awake last night thinking about what Kevin had suggested. _Maybe Finn did something very stupid._ “Okay, you know the spell, but do you actually know how to break it? Gallows and Anderson seemed to think the way to break it was to kill Seth, and we’re not doing that.”

Kevin nodded. “That’s one way, certainly. Usually it’d be the easiest way, but in this case pretty much any other way would be easier.” He laughed. “Never tell Seth we talked about him like this, like he’s some kind of legendary, terrifying sorcerer. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

“Well, he kind of is.”

Kevin scoffed. Sami had to smile a little.

“Anyway,” Kevin said briskly, “there’s another way to break the spell. I can’t do it, but I do know someone who can.”

Sami sat up. “Someone?”

At that moment the door burst open and in strolled Dean Ambrose, looking irritated and exhausted. “All right, assholes,” he growled. “Tell me what the fucking plan is or I’m slitting both your throats and taking your million gold and getting the fuck out of this shithole.”

“Good morning to you, too, Dean,” Sami said, amused.

Kevin appraised the man. “Didn’t you pack anything?”

Dean scowled at him. “I never pack anything.”

Sami couldn’t help it; he laughed out loud. Kevin rolled his eyes. He waved at a nearby stool and Dean obligingly plopped down onto it. Sami shifted so he was sitting cross-legged on the bar. Kevin got glasses of water for all three of them and started talking.

“So, as you mentioned yesterday, Ambrose, demons are impossible to fight. At least they are for men like us. Which is why the first thing we’re going to do is find someone who can fight a demon, and who has, in fact, defeated a demon. The very demon _we_ need to defeat, luckily enough.”

“AJ Styles?” Sami’s brow furrowed. “You want to seek out AJ Styles?”

Kevin nodded.

“You didn’t tell me this part of the plan.”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”

Dean looked just as confused as Sami felt. “Isn’t Styles the King of the Kingdom of the New Sun?”

“Emperor,” Kevin corrected. “And if you were listening to me yesterday, you’d know he became Emperor by defeating Prince Devitt and chasing him into exile.”

“Why would he help us?” Sami asked. He glanced at Dean. “AJ knows Seth, and last I knew the two were very friendly. Why would AJ help us kill him? And why would AJ want anything to do with Finn again?”

“We’re not going to ask him to help us. We’re going to steal his sword. Well, _you_ are.” He smiled warmly at Sami.

Sami gaped at him, frankly astonished. “You want me to steal the sword of the most powerful sorcerer in the world?”

“You can do it,” Kevin said, not a trace of doubt in his tone. Sami wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or horrified. At the moment he mostly just felt horrified.

Dean still looked confused. “How is this sword going to help us?”

Sami caught Kevin’s eye, and in a flash of intuition he understood precisely what Kevin was planning. “Because it’s a Divine Weapon,” he said, and shook his head. He addressed Kevin. “Of course. I should have guessed that was your plan.”

“It’s a _what_?”

“A Divine Weapon,” Kevin said. “Once wielded by an angel. A _real_ angel, mind you. No one knows how Styles got his hands on it, but it’s made him the most powerful sorcerer in the world, and it’s how he was able to overcome Prince Devitt and his demon and take his kingdom out from under him. And it’s how we’re going to overcome that same demon. It should also give us one hell of an edge against Seth.”

Sami uttered a little nervous laugh. “Except AJ’s likely to kill us first, Kev.”

“Only if we fuck it up,” Kevin returned blithely.

Dean was chewing on the nail of his thumb, his blue eyes thoughtful. “And how exactly are we going to accomplish this, Owens?”

Kevin rested his elbows on the bar. “Ambrose, you and me are going to request an audience with the Emperor. Styles could refuse us, but I don’t think he will, not if we mention that it’s about Finn Balor. We’ll tell him the truth, or at least part of it. We’ll tell him we were hired to kill Seth Rollins, but we have Finn Balor and his demon to contend with and we humbly ask his assistance. He’ll refuse us, of course. Like Sami said, Styles and Seth were quite friendly, and Styles will have no interest in helping anyone kill him. He’ll turn us away, but by that point Sami will have already taken the sword…and I’ll have taken a little of his power.” His grin was malevolent. “I have it on good authority Styles doesn’t keep the sword with him. Most of the time it’s locked up in his chambers. So Sami sneaks in while we’re talking with Styles, trying our best to convince him to help us, give us _anything_ , he steals the sword, Styles kicks us out, and we move on to our real objective.”

“You make it sound easy,” Sami said darkly, but he felt a thrill of excitement, of anticipation. He had stolen small fortunes from nearly all the nobles of the Kingdom, and once he had stolen the favorite cape of the King himself, for no other reason than to see if it could be done. He had nearly been caught that time, and he knew if he had the consequences would have been quite unpleasant. Always there was the fear before the act, the uncertainty of success and the terror of the possibility of capture, but then there was the thrill of danger, the irresistible allure of getting away with it. He still reveled in the memory of having successfully stolen from the King of Kings, having managed to break into the castle, bypass all the King’s carefully designed defenses, and take even just such a trifle as a cape. To steal from an Emperor, AJ Styles no less—

“What makes you think Styles won’t just kill us the moment we tell him our intentions?” Dean asked sharply, ripping Sami out of his daydreaming. “If he and Seth are ‘friendly,’ as you put it—”

“Oh, he won’t kill us,” Kevin said, with a wave of his hand. “He’ll want to leave that to Seth.”

“A lot could go wrong, Kev,” Sami warned, again, but Kevin only smiled, and maybe the argument was perfunctory anyway.

“So we’re going to try to kill one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world,” Dean muttered, “and to do it we’re going to try to steal from _the_ most powerful sorcerer in the world, and hope one of them doesn’t kill us instead. This is insane. You realize that, right?”

“Ten million gold,” Kevin reminded him.

Dean sighed. “Demons, angels…It sounds like I might have to use my magic.”

Sami glanced at Kevin, and Kevin glanced back. “Yes,” Kevin said mildly, “you probably will.” He turned away. “Now will one of you help me pack? I’d like to leave as soon as possible. The Kingdom of the New Sun is a long way away.”


	4. A Harbinger of Things to Come

_“Fools,” Hunter growled once the nobles had departed, “the lot of them.”_

_Seth wholeheartedly agreed, but he held his tongue._

_Hunter slumped back. Already a huge man, he seemed even larger sitting lofty upon the golden throne of the King of Kings, dressed in flowing black and silver robes, his spiked iron crown on his head. The black jewel in the center of the crown didn’t reflect the light, but seemed to consume it, smother it in fathomless dark. The jewel was a rare and potent stone that could conduct magic and augment its strength. Hunter had never told Seth—or anyone, Seth imagined—where he had found it or how he had learned to use it. There was another such stone in the hammer that was Hunter’s favored weapon. Hunter very rarely wielded the hammer anymore. He said it was a sign of the peace he had attained that he never had to._

_“What do you think?” the King asked at length, shifting his gaze to Seth._

_Seth considered. He was standing in his usual position at the King’s right; he sat down on one of the throne’s armrests. “What makes you think one of them hired the assassin?”_

_Hunter scowled. He had maintained a mask of perfect calm throughout the—rather disastrous—council, but now he had tossed it aside, and all his rage and unease and frustration were marked clearly in the twist of his features. “They all want to sit on this throne. I’ve known of the plotting and scheming for years. Now that I’ve chosen you as my heir, they know they will never have the power they covet so long as the Queen and I are still alive.”_

_Seth shook his head. “They know they only continue to hold the power they have by your mercy. They fear you. They wouldn’t dare—”_

_Hunter stood up, pacing away from the throne. “No one has ruled this kingdom as long as I have for a thousand years. You know as well as I do how often power changes hands in this land, how quickly the mighty rise and how quickly they fall.” He smiled thinly. “That my fall is imminent seems to them a foregone conclusion.”_

It is, _Seth thought._

_“They might not dare strike at me directly, but Stephanie has no power of her own. She’s vulnerable when she’s not by my side, and they know it. And if she were to fall…” He turned away._

_If Stephanie were to die, Hunter would be weakened. When they wed, Hunter had bound them together by magic, casting an ancient spell that entwined their souls and made them as one. From what he had told Seth, he had done it to protect Stephanie, who had been born without magic, which made her incredibly vulnerable among an elite populated entirely by powerful sorcerers. The spell had its disadvantages for Hunter, however; if the bond was broken by her death, it would be as if his own soul had been cloven, and he would lose much of his strength._

_It made sense, really, to target Stephanie._

_Seth was very much aware of that._

_Seth shifted, absently pulling the black ribbon out of his hair. He had stopped to change into his ceremonial clothes—tunic, breeches, boots, gloves, and cloak, all white lined with gold. He had to admit he rather liked the outfit, although it wasn’t anything he would choose to wear. It made him feel too much like he had to act prim and proper. In other words, it reminded him he was a prince. And that he, too, was bound to Hunter._

_“I think,” he said, cautiously, “it was Lord Orton.”_

_Hunter’s back was to him so he couldn’t see the King’s expression, but he saw the way Hunter’s shoulders tensed, how his hands balled into fists and then relaxed again. No doubt it had occurred to Hunter that the most likely suspect was Randy, but he probably didn’t want to believe it. Hunter had been something of a mentor to Randy in their younger years. Something had happened between them, however, something that led to a fight that almost ended Randy’s life. In the end Hunter had spared him, and years later, after seizing the throne, he had made Randy a noble. Before Seth had come along, he had even wanted Randy to be his heir._

_Yet if he held no grudge, Randy certainly did, and Hunter was well aware of it. He just chose to ignore it._

_Sometimes, Hunter could be sentimental._

_The King was silent for a long time. Then, quietly, he said, “You’ve grown close with Randy as of late. You two seem to spend much time together.”_

_“Only because he won’t leave me alone,” Seth muttered. Aloud, he said, choosing his words carefully, “We’re not exactly friends, but we have…come to know each other rather well, yes.”_

_“Are you sleeping with him?”_

_Seth tried not to let his discomfort show. “No.”_

_Hunter turned to him. His face was impassive. “If I asked you to kill him, would you?”_

_“Yes,” Seth said without hesitation, ignoring the twist in his gut._

_Hunter only looked at him for what seemed a very long time, his eyes as dark and endless as the jewel in his crown. Seth met them unflinching._

_Then Hunter’s face broke into a broad smile. He walked up to Seth, taking his face in his hands. He pressed a lingering kiss to Seth’s brow. Seth closed his eyes and leaned in to the touch, let himself believe it, just for a moment._

_Hunter drew back. “I’ve ordered an increase of security, of course. More guards around the Queen, and around the castle as a whole. I suppose you’ll object if I want to place guards around you as well whenever you leave the castle? You wander off so often.”_

_Seth made a face. “You know that’s not necessary.”_

_Hunter sighed and nodded. “Yes, I suppose. But maybe you could indulge me and stay within the castle walls for a while, until this is all figured out? Whoever is behind this, I worry they may target you.”_

_“If they do, they’re dead.”_

_That prompted a hearty laugh from Hunter. “Well, you will do what you will do, as always.” He sobered. “But be on your guard.”_

_Seth nodded._

_Hunter looked away, expression thoughtful. “I’ll need to plant spies among the personal guards of the nobles. That will be rather troublesome with Randy and Jericho, but it can be done. Kane is still trying to get a name out of the assassin, but I think we know it’s futile.”_

_It was, no doubt. The assassin likely had no name to give. Whoever had hired him had probably done it through Kevin Owens, and the assassin would have never known the name or face of his benefactor._

_Hunter reached out again, his hands settling on Seth’s shoulders. He studied Seth’s face, this time in a more open, questioning way. “Are you all right, Seth? You’ve seemed…distant, as of late. I couldn’t even find you to tell you about what had happened to Stephanie, and I had to have Jamie and Joey track you down to bring you here. I feel like you’ve been avoiding me.”_

_Surprised by the sudden change of subject, Seth vouchsafed an apologetic smile. “Forgive me. I haven’t been sleeping very well lately, so I’m just exhausted most of the time. That’s all.”_

_“Oh? Well, valerian will help with that. Join me in my study tonight. We’ll have some tea. I’ll make it with my own two hands.” It was an old joke of Hunter’s; he knew Seth detested having servants do things for him. Seth had never liked having people around to wait on him, always hovering, never giving him any privacy. He’d had Hunter remove all the servants assigned to him only a month after he’d been named Crown Prince._

_Seth nodded. Hunter patted his shoulder. With a flourish, the King turned and walked out of the throne room, his heavy footfalls booming across the chamber._

_After a few minutes Seth followed, but he only made it halfway to the doors when he stopped, body stiffening, eyes widening._

_Someone else was in the room with him. A dark, familiar presence. Behind him. It seemed to reach out to him, like a finger tracing slowly and deliberately down the back of his neck. His magic sparked to life in response, suffusing his skin with comforting warmth, wrapping him in a barrier of heat and light._

_He turned, slowly, lifting his right hand. In his palm a flame ignited into existence, casting his face in a flickering orange glow._

_No one was there, of course, and suddenly he felt that he was alone again._

_There was something on the seat of the throne. Seth approached cautiously, already knowing what it was. A black rose, frozen in time and left there for him, a beautiful and bewildering gift._

***

Even after a year, it was strange to look to the horizon and not see black towers clawing at the sky.

Dean had ventured to where the castle had stood only once, two days after it had fallen. He had been in a village about a day’s journey away when it happened, hiding out in a barn. He’d been hiding, ironically enough, from the King’s soldiers. Small-time grunts, but tenacious, and he’d been complaining about them to the donkey when he heard screams. Then he had felt it—like something had been ripped out from inside him, something so deep and so intrinsic to his being he had never even noticed it until it had been torn away. Left for a moment stunned and breathless, he’d eventually run outside. In the distance, the sky had turned to flame. The castle was burning, and the King was dead. He had felt it; they all had felt it.

He had stood there, watching the horizon glow red, the family that owned the farm watching it too, silhouetted against that terrible blazing light, and Dean had thought, _Seth._

Two days later he’d gone to where the castle had stood, and had been shocked by what he found. Nothing was left of the castle or the city that had thrived in its umbrage—Royal’s Shadow, the city had been appropriately named—but charred and blackened ruins. The air was so thick with ashes and smoke it was difficult to breathe; he’d had to tie a strip of cloth around his mouth. Small fires still burned, scattered across the devastation like fallen stars.

On his way there he’d heard others talking about what they had witnessed, all of them white-faced and clearly terrified. Many of them had been on their way to or from the city when it occurred, mere feet away from sudden death. They said the fire had engulfed everything in a matter of seconds. No one had had time to escape. Thousands dead. Dean had walked through the scorched streets of the city, wondering how many, exactly, had burned alive.

 _Seth did this,_ he’d thought, and a year later it still chilled him to the bone.

He had always known Seth’s power had depths yet untapped. Seth had told him and Roman, not long after the three of them had been brought together, that he had once practiced necromancy. Roman had been startled.

“I thought your power was fire,” he’d said, head titled slightly in puzzlement.

Seth had seemed uncomfortable. “It is. Uh, um…for a long time I practiced necromancy. I discovered as a kid I had the capacity for black magic. Turns out I had an affinity for it, too. I was strong. But…something…something happened, and I found I could use white magic, too. Elemental white magic.” He’d held up his hand, and a small flame had ignited in his palm. “I swore, after…after that, that I’d never practice necromancy again. So I haven’t. I’ve cultivated this power instead. I find it much…better.”

A sorcerer born with both black and white magic was unheard of. Seth had informed his stunned companions of this, seeming embarrassed by it. Roman, perhaps seeing how rattled Seth was telling them all this, had gone to the younger man and pulled him into a tight one-armed hug. Seth had responded the way he usually did, by breaking into a big smile that could put the brilliance of the Sun to shame. Dean had just sat there, appraising Seth, uncertain what to think. He’d always been aware that Seth was very powerful and very dangerous, but this new revelation presented so many new potentialities. Seth was no normal sorcerer. He was a _necromancer_ , whether he still used the magic or not. And something about his voice as he explained all this to them, the way a shadow seemed to pass over his expression as he spoke, had set Dean on edge. Seth never would elaborate on what had happened when his white magic awoke. There was so much about his past he would never speak of.

Even after Seth had said those three strange little words— _I love you—_ even after Dean had found the truth of them like a tiny glimmer of light piercing through the hollowed crevasse of his own heart— _I_ _love_ _you_ , _too_ —even after the three of them had become comfortable as a newfound family, Dean had always been wary. Somewhere in the very, very far back of his mind, he wondered if Seth was really all he seemed. There had been a restlessness in Seth’s eyes, a sense that he could be standing right by Dean’s side but he would still be somewhere else, out of reach, like his contentment and affection were just pretense.

Then there had been the blade in Roman’s back, and the blade in Dean’s stomach. Then there had been the King’s laughter, and Seth’s look of cold resolution. And all Dean had been able to think was, _I was so stupid._

The wagon hit a hard bump, jostling him out of his unpleasant memories. He must have been half-dreaming, because for a beat he had no idea where he was or why. Then it all came flooding back—Gallows and Anderson, Seth Rollins, a demon, Kevin and Sami, eleven million gold.

They were travelling in the guise of merchants, in a fairly large covered wagon pulled by Sami’s favorite horse, Generico (the fact he had named his horse after the pseudonym he’d gone by over the first several years of his career as a thief amused Dean, but it was very Sami; when he’d told Sami so the other man had responded with a haughty “I have never gone by that name in my _life_ , Dean, what _are_ you on about?”). Sami was playing coachman, and Kevin was sitting up front with him, leaving Dean alone here in the back, thinking about things he had tried very hard not to think about over the last three years.

Like the way Seth had looked at him with those big dark eyes, or the smell of Seth’s skin, or the softness of his hair, or the way he had liked to trace the scars on Dean’s back as they lay together at night, or the way he’d sometimes fall asleep with his head on Dean’s shoulder those long nights they spent sitting around a fire in the wilderness, Roman on watch, Dean resigned to having been designated pillow duty.

Dean turned over onto his side, crossing his arms tightly—almost protectively—over his chest, trying to banish these useless memories and concentrate on the one thing that mattered now: the thought of how it would feel burying his blade into Seth’s stomach just as he had done to Dean.

Dean was broken out of his thoughts by an inhuman scream. The horse, he recognized. The wagon came to sudden, screeching halt, sending Dean flying. He whacked his head good on the wooden floor and cursed. He started to get to his feet, but then he heard a shout— _Sami?_ —and the wagon began moving again, so fast and so abruptly he was thrown right out, landing flat on his face on unyielding ground. He managed to catch himself on his arms so he didn’t end up with a smashed nose or worse, but it was a close thing.

Momentarily stunned, he only dimly registered someone shouting something. He staggered to his feet, and saw Sami on the ground near him, holding out a hand. There was an arrow poking out of Sami’s shoulder. Dean whipped around and saw that the wagon wasn’t moving. Sami had cast a paralyzing spell on it and presumably the horse, freezing them mid-movement.

Dean heard the barely audible _hiss_ of something cutting through the air and stepped back. The arrow lodged itself in earth instead of flesh. He spun on his heel, tossing the dagger that had been hidden in his sleeve in the direction the arrow had come. Still a bit off-kilter from having been thrown out of a moving wagon, he didn’t throw it with the strength and speed he usually would have, and something moved inside the canopy of the trees, darting out of the blade’s path. Dean immediately made to rush toward it, but then there was a woman standing in front of him. She was blonde, slim, and very pretty, and she appeared out of nowhere. Dean skidded to a halt, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground again, his cheek in agony. The blonde woman bent over him, batting her eyelashes and giggling, hands folded behind her back. She must have punched him, moving so fast he hadn’t been able to see.

Dean growled, a low, animalistic sound that reverberated from deep within his chest—the bitch had _punched_ him—and he lashed out blindly, but she was gone, flitting away in a blur like a hummingbird. There was a sudden weight on his back. A foot slammed into the back of his head, grinding his face into the dirt. Pain exploded. He heard a giggle and understood it was the same woman.

Rage swallowed him. He got his arms underneath him and pulled himself up, jerking his upper body with such force he unbalanced the blonde woman and threw her off. She managed to land on her feet with an indignant huff, but as she turned back to him she froze, blanching. Dean had risen to a crouch, face twisted, eyes black. In a flash, he reached out and grabbed her ankle. She yelped, in surprise and pain. His grip was like a vice, tightening, tightening. She tried to kick him off, but he was much stronger than her. He pulled her leg so she stumbled and fell on her backside. She stared at him, eyes wide and terrified, the eyes of a creature that has just realized it is about to be devoured. Maybe she could sense it, the energy that had begun to coalesce around Dean, heavy and black and engulfing, consuming light and air and strength and _everything_ —

“Liv!” Another woman’s voice, seemingly from a great distance, and Dean, awareness heightened, heard the arrow cutting through the air, heard running footsteps, but then all of it stopped.

Kevin’s voice boomed. _“Dean! Do not use your magic!”_

The energy growing around Dean dissipated like so much smoke blown apart by the wind. Quelled, Dean drew back, releasing the blonde woman. She sat there, motionless, her face all eyes. Dean flexed his hands, frowning a little. His head swam. It had been a long time since he’d come so close to—

He looked around. Kevin was standing, both hands held out, palms turned outward. Sami was on the ground behind him, clutching Kevin’s coat to his shoulder, which was bleeding. There were two women, both of them as still as statues, frozen mid-motion. The tall one with light brown hair had a bow in her hand, held up like she had just fired it. The third woman, standing between Kevin and Dean, had long black hair, pale skin, and lips painted black. She had been running toward Dean.

Dean understood what had happened—Kevin, who no doubt had absorbed and stored up a considerable amount of Sami’s magic over the years, had used it to cast a paralysis spell on the women.

“Fucking hell, Dean,” Kevin snapped, “do you want to kill us all?”

Dean stood up, fighting the wave of dizziness. “Maybe I do,” he said darkly. Kevin’s reply was a dramatic roll of the eyes. Sami’s was a weak smile.

“Who are these assholes, anyway? Bandits?” Dean turned back to the blonde woman, who had been paralyzed along with the other two. As he did another wave of dizziness washed over him and he staggered, nearly tripping over his own feet. He closed his eyes against the way the world had suddenly started spinning and concentrated on keeping his balance.

The questions had been rhetorical but Sami had an answer. “The Riott Squad,” he said grimly. “They’re bandits, all right. Bayley warned me about them, said they’ve been terrorizing travelers for months now. Ruby Riott, their leader, is the one with the black hair. Sarah Logan is the one with the bow. The poor girl you nearly scared to death is Liv Morgan. Bayley said she was a really sweet girl before she met Ruby.”

“Bayley,” Kevin scoffed. “Are you still talking to her?”

“I’m allowed to have friends,” Sami retorted. “Whether you like them or not.”

“She’s a bad influence.”

“She wants me to stop thieving. That’s actually the opposite of a bad influence.”

Dean had no idea who this Bayley was and he tuned them out. He brushed the dirt off his sleeves and pants. The wagon and the horse were still unmoving, locked under Sami’s spell.

“So, are we just leaving them here?” he asked, glancing around at the women again.

Kevin shrugged. “Might as well. The spell will wear off in an hour or two.” He got down on his knees beside Sami, pulling away his folded coat to inspect Sami’s wound. “I’ll get this cleaned up and bandaged. At least the arrow wasn’t poisoned.”

“You _sure_ it wasn’t poisoned?” Sami asked anxiously. “Cause I think I feel a little woozy—”

“That’s the blood-loss, you wimp. And yes I’m sure. You act like I’ve never been shot at with poison arrows before.” Kevin waved a hand in Dean’s general direction, not looking up. “We’ll be off again in a few minutes.”

Dean snorted humorless laughter. “Not off to a great start, are we?”

“A harbinger of things to come,” Kevin said cheerfully, rolling up Sami’s sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo by the Riott Squad! Poor girls, just left there in the middle of the road. 
> 
> This fic sure will be taking its sweet time. Hope you're all enjoying it so far! :3


	5. Something in the Darkness

_Kevin Owens, semi-retired assassin, now made his living running a bar and acting as a middleman between killers for hire and those interested in hiring them. It was a precarious sort of business, but Kevin was careful, his clients were careful, and it worked. Of course, it helped that Seth made certain no rumors of questionable goings-on involving Kevin Owens ever reached Hunter’s ears, but Kevin would likely never acknowledge that. Kevin’s bar, which he ran alongside his on-again, off-again lover Sami Zayn, was just as well-known among the notorious and the disreputable as the man himself was, especially his homemade whiskey. Seth had never tried the whiskey. One story of a hole being burned through someone’s stomach was enough to make him think twice._

_The bar was called The Black Tavern. “Kev named it after you, of course,” Sami had said jovially when Seth asked. “We wanted to honor your memory.”_

_“I left, I didn’t_ die,” _had been Seth’s despairing response._

_Sami had shrugged. “Kevin said as far as he was concerned you died. He’s very happy about your miraculous resurrection, by the way.”_

_It was after closing and the door was locked. Seth could sense Kevin moving around inside. He could also sense the fire in the fireplace. He focused on it, reaching out to the insensate heat of its energy with his own, channeling his power into it so it blazed stronger, its merry crackle rising to a roar. He heard Kevin’s muffled curse and hurried footsteps. There was the click of the lock and the door flew open. Kevin scowled at him, holding a cleaning rag threateningly in one hand._

_“Fucking hell, Rollins. Can’t you just knock?”_

_“If I did you wouldn’t answer.”_

_“I can_ sense _you out here, asshole.”_

_“I know, that’s why you wouldn’t answer, unless I reminded you that I can burn this place to the ground with as little effort as it takes for me to raise my hand.” He smiled sweetly. “Going to invite me in?”_

_Kevin rolled his eyes and stepped aside. Seth accepted the implicit invitation and entered. Kevin had been in the process of wiping down tables and setting them up for the night, it looked like; half of the small circular tables had their chairs placed upside down on top of them. The stools hadn’t been moved yet, and Seth went to one toward the center of the bar and sat, flipping back his hood and shaking off rainwater. With a wave of his hand he withdrew his magic, and the fire shrank to what it’d been before his arrival._

_Kevin crossed his arms and stood there in front of Seth. His small, sharp eyes scrutinized his unannounced guest. “You look like hell, Rollins.”_

_“You’re not much to look at yourself, Owens,” Seth returned easily. He supposed he probably did look a little rough. He_ felt _a little rough._

_Kevin studied him for another moment, expression unreadable, then he tossed the rag aside and walked around the bar. Seth swiveled in his seat to watch him and was somewhat surprised when Kevin poured a glass of water and passed it to him._

_“Got nothing stronger to offer?” Seth asked, half-teasing, taking a sip._

_“We’re closed,” Kevin said shortly. “Anyway, you don’t look like you could handle anything stronger. You look like you’re about to topple over, kid.”_

_It was a wonder he hadn’t toppled over yet, actually, but of course he didn’t say that._

_Before he could think of a witty response, the door to the kitchens burst open and out came Sami Zayn, half-running, half-stumbling and looking like a puppy that had just heard his human come home. “Seth! I thought I heard your voice!” He jumped over the bar and practically threw himself at Seth, throwing his arms around Seth’s neck and nearly knocking him off the stool._

_Seth, startled into a laugh, hugged him back as best he could from the awkward position. “Good to see you, too, Sami.”_

_Sami pulled back, dropping heavily onto the stool next to Seth’s. He was beaming. “It’s been a while! How have you been? How’re things among the royalty?” His smile faltered and his brow furrowed. “You don’t look so good, actually. Is anything wrong? Is that why you’re here? Did something happen? Oh, wait! Before that, I have something for you, hold on!” With the speed and agility of a cat he once again hopped over the bar and disappeared back into the kitchens, leaving Seth to sit there, rather nonplussed._

_Kevin shook his head, a fond sort of smile playing at his lips. The expression was odd on him. He regarded Seth again. “Why_ are _you here?”_

_Seth wasn’t sure what to say. Why was he hesitating? One of the black roses was in his pocket, wrapped in white cloth. Its chill had seeped into his skin._

_“Who hired the assassin to kill Stephanie?” he asked finally, not realizing he meant to speak at all until the words came out._

_Kevin cocked an eyebrow, looking at Seth like he knew what the question was: an evasion. “I heard the fool was captured.”_

_Seth nodded. “He’s dead now. Kane took his time. Five days, as a matter of fact.” Seth had felt it the moment the man died; he had been on the edge of sleep, his mental guards weakened, and he had bolted awake when he heard the last plaintive cry of the man’s soul as it was ripped from its flesh. The memory made him shiver._

_Kevin made a face. “Bad for business. The idiot. I should have known better than to think he could pull off that kind of job. Even I would have a tough time. Oh well, one less incompetent in the world, I suppose.” He leaned on the bar, resting his chin on his palm. “But you didn’t come all this way to ask for information you know I won’t give you. Especially since you don’t give a damn about the lovely Queen, anyway.”_

_Seth shook his head. Before he could say anything, however, Sami crashed into the room again. He handed Seth something wrapped in black velvet. Seth took it, giving Sami a questioning look. The other man grinned, gesturing excitedly for him to unwrap it. Seth did, and for a moment he forgot his rose entirely. His face lit up with awe and unexpected delight._

_It was a statuette of a dog, maybe four inches tall and made of limestone. It had been carved with intricate detail, from the ragged appearance of the dog’s fur to the tuffs of hair under the small triangle ears. The dog was sitting alert, its long bushy tail curled around its left hind-leg._

_“I stole it from a merchant passing through a couple weeks ago,” Sami informed him. “I saw it and thought of you immediately. I thought I’d give it to you on your birthday, but Kev wouldn’t let me go to the castle to sneak it in to you.”_

_“Last time I let you go there to give Seth something you decided it’d be a good idea to steal the King’s cape,” Kevin said in a long-suffering tone. “You’re not going back until you learn some restraint.” Sami pouted._

_“My birthday?” Seth frowned, confused._

_Sami sighed. “It was two weeks and three days ago. Fell on a Bruno’s Day this year.”_

_“Oh.” Seth smiled, a bit sheepish. “Right, of course.” He looked warmly at Sami. “Thanks, Sami. It’s amazing.” Sami grinned back._

_“So,” Kevin said, with ponderous patience. “To what do we owe this visit, Rollins?”_

_Seth took his time rewrapping the statuette and placing it on the bar. He just looked at it for what seemed a long while, trying to focus his thoughts. At length he reached down and took out the rose. Not glancing at either Kevin or Sami, he unveiled it and set it down next to the statuette._

_“This,” he said, “is why I’m here.”_

_“A flower?” Sami appeared bemused._

_Kevin picked it up. His eyes widened. “Not just any flower. This…it’s a real rose, isn’t it?”_

_Seth nodded. “But it’s like it’s been frozen, turned to stone—”_

_“Suspended in time,” Kevin murmured, turning the rose over in his hands, running his fingers gently over its ossified petals. Curious, Sami leaned in for a better look._

_Seth told them about the strange presence that seemed to shadow his steps, about the throne room, and how Randy and Charlotte had both felt they were being watched. “Whoever or whatever it is, it leaves me these roses. Every day for the last ten days. And this morning…” He shifted, unconsciously reaching up to touch his cheek. When he had woken up this morning he had discovered a black rose—the same one now in Kevin’s hands—lying on his pillow, and there had been the lingering sensation on his cheek like fingers had just brushed softly over his skin. “It’s been watching me,” he said quietly. “Watching all of us. I know it has black magic, but it’s not a necromancer. I’ve never encountered this kind of magic before. I thought maybe you would have. You’ve dabbled in this awful stuff much more than I have.”_

_“Not all of us are cowards,” Kevin remarked absently. He smiled. “Kane had his demon exorcised years ago, so I suppose it’s not surprising you wouldn’t know this kind of magic.”_

_Seth frowned at him, dread already creeping in. “What are you saying?”_

_“It’s a demon, kid.” Kevin set the rose back down on the table. His voice was perfectly calm, almost casual. “This magic is called Suspension. It’s a power similar to Sami’s Paralysis, except far stronger, and permanent. It freezes objects, living or nonliving—like this flower—in time, so they remain as they are for eternity, never changing, never aging, never decaying. It’s a magic only demons have ever been known to use. You have someone possessed by a demon stalking you, Rollins.”_

***

They stopped at an inn in a village called Falcon’s Roost. It was so named, an elderly local informed them as they sat in the main hall awaiting their dinner, because falcons liked nesting in the trees that surrounded the village for reasons only the birds themselves knew. They were spotted in unusually large numbers around the area, and the village had been home to many a falconer over the years. Sami immediately wanted to go out and see if he could spot any falcons, but Kevin reminded him about their food and he sat back down, somewhat crestfallen.

Dean wandered off not long after they ate. Sami and Kevin lingered, sipping their drinks—Kevin had a tankard of ale, not the best he’d ever tasted but far from the worst; Sami settled for water—Sami chatting idly with the other patrons, Kevin sitting silent and watchful.

After a couple hours, Kevin stood up, tugging on Sami’s sleeve. Sami followed him outside. The night was warm and clear, stars gazing with cheerful indifference down on them, the moon barely a sliver in their midst. They settled underneath a large maple tree, one of several that were lined up like soldiers between the inn and the neighboring farm. There was a small critter nosing around the fence that surrounded the farm, but Sami couldn’t make out what it was.

“So,” Sami began after a period of comfortable silence, “how much of all this is you wanting power, and how much of it is you just wanting to know if Seth is okay?”

Kevin tensed briefly. He scoffed. “I don’t care if he’s okay. The fool could be dead, I don’t give a damn. Hell, it would make our task a lot easier.”

Sami hummed. “I want to know if he’s okay. I’m worried about what might have happened. It’s been a year since he burned down the King and the castle, but there’s been no sign of him. Why? What’s he been doing? Why’s he been hiding? He could have taken over the Kingdom, could have rebuilt it, but he’s just…done nothing, and we’ve been left with the nobles scrambling to figure out how to govern on their own.”

It was a moment before Kevin spoke. “It is…odd. Becoming King was what Seth wanted. But…did you notice, how he started to change? How withdrawn he became? How we saw him less and less?”

“Of course I noticed. I thought maybe he was…you know, regretting what he’d done to get himself to where he was.” He purposefully didn’t elaborate, and Kevin turned his face away, as if afraid his expression might expose something he didn’t want Sami to see.

“Maybe he was, but that wasn’t all.” Kevin shifted, leaning back against the trunk of the tree. “I saw the same thing happen when he was with Jimmy. He was starting to realize he was in over his head, that he wasn’t sure how he was going to get out of the mess he’d put himself in, that he didn’t really have a plan after all. That’s always been his problem. He thinks he has a plan, but it never really works out the way he intended, and he never realizes it until it’s too late. That’s what happened with Jimmy. He thought he could outsmart and out-manipulate Jimmy. He thought he could use Jimmy. He didn’t realize how utterly mad Jimmy was, just how far gone that asshole really is, until it was too late to get out, and he nearly ended up dead at Jimmy’s hand. I wondered if the same thing was happening with Hunter, if Seth was starting to realize he wasn’t strong enough to take down the King of Kings after all, not without killing himself in the process.”

“But he was, in the end,” Sami said softly. A gust of wind passed through, rustling the canopy above their heads. A leaf floated down to them. Sami caught it. He turned it over, admiring its delicate pattern of veins. “I wonder what happened, what finally made him do it, and why…All those people he killed.” He laughed a little, shakily. He remembered the night the castle and its city had gone up in flames quite vividly; he could still close his eyes and see the sky awash in savage red. It hadn’t even occurred to him it must be Seth until he heard Kevin whisper Seth’s name in an uncharacteristically small, shocked voice. He had never seen such power, had never imagined Seth Rollins, the reckless doe-eyed boy he’d met when they both went by different names and neither of them had any sort of idea what they were doing with their lives, _had_ such power. “It’s incredible he _didn’t_ kill himself.”

 _The Kingslayer_ , they called him. The Crowned Prince, a sorcerer of fire, once an infamous mercenary who had nearly brought down the King of Kings with his two companions, adopted by the King after betraying those same companions, who had left the World Kingdom’s monarchy in ashes. He had not been seen or heard from since that night, but the story spread and grew until it almost became legend. Sami had wanted to search for him. Kevin had demurred.    

“I hope he’s all right,” Sami murmured. He rested his head on Kevin’s shoulder.

Kevin pursed his lips. At length he said, “Yeah. Me too.”

***

_The rain was still falling heavy when Seth left the bar. He adjusted his cloak, pulling his hood a little farther up, and started down the street. It was almost midnight and the city was quiet; he didn’t pass another soul on his way._

_A demon, Kevin had said. A demon was lurking in the shadows within the castle, watching, watching_ him.

_He took out the rose in his pocket and cradled it in his hands, keeping it carefully concealed beneath the folds of his cloak._

_He wasn’t frightened. He supposed he should be, but somehow he did not feel at all threatened. He wasn’t sure how he felt, exactly. He had hesitated to come to Kevin, although it had been the first thing that he thought of. It had taken him days to decide, and even when he had reached a decision he had been reluctant, reluctant even to show Kevin this macabre gift he’d been given. He felt strangely…protective, like this was a secret he should keep close._

_There was unease, however, a persistent prickling underneath his skin. Why was this demon watching him? And the nobles? What did these roses mean?_

_Over the last ten days he had felt like he was just waiting for something to happen; it was like watching the sky darken and feeling the wind rise, the heaviness in the air, just waiting for the storm to break._

_There was a sudden sting of pain in his shoulder. He stopped, reaching up instinctively. The needle came out easy. He regarded it blankly. It was black and barely visible in the dark._ Poisoned, _he thought, and as if in confirmation his vision blurred and his legs collapsed under him._

_He hit the street hard, cutting his elbow on the sharp jutting edge of a broken cobblestone. The pain was dull, faraway. His hood slipped off and his hair tumbled into his face. Through the wet tangles and the haze that had fallen over his eyes he saw the rose and the needle drop from his suddenly limp fingers. He tried to move, but his arms and legs had gone numb and he couldn’t budge. He tried to think, but his mind was as uncooperative as his body. He was exhausted, suddenly, terribly exhausted. He fought to stay conscious. He became very aware of the rain. The continuous patter of drops on the street was very loud, swallowing the whole world. Beneath it was his own labored breathing, oddly detached, like it belonged to someone else._

_His magic flared in instinctual defense, but his head was too muddled for him to maintain proper control. Heat and light sputtered off his skin in erratic pulses with the staccato beats of his heart. His sword blazed to life in its sheath, strapped to his back and hidden beneath his cloak. Steam filled the air as the temperature around him rose rapidly, but he couldn’t concentrate to muster enough energy to create fire despite the rain._

_Just beyond the faltering circle of orangish light the glow of his skin cast, he caught movement. A man came into view. Short and stocky, he was clothed all in black, nearly blending in with the night. His face was familiar, long and angular with high cheekbones and a broad forehead. Wet strands of his long dark hair hung over his eyes like a tattered veil. He hadn’t had the thick black beard the last time Seth had seen him, but Seth knew him._

_“Neville?” he heard himself say, his voice slurring like a drunk. Talking took tremendous effort._

_“Hello, Rollins,” Neville said. His tone was icy. He had a knife in his hands. Seth registered its existence but didn’t feel particularly alarmed by it. His eyelids were so heavy. He couldn’t even feel the rain anymore._

_“Were you hired,” he asked, not really sure why he was bothering, “or is this revenge?”_

_Neville sneered. “So you remember what you did to me? Leaving me for dead?”_

_“Not really,” Seth replied distantly, although he remembered quite well. A stupid fight he’d picked in a tavern out of some stupid need to prove himself, to feel strong. Neville had almost gotten the better of him. Almost. Seth had considered taking the man’s life, but in the end he’d just left him there, beaten, barely alive._

_Neville’s mouth twisted in what might have been meant as a smile. The knife glinted in the dim glow emanating from Seth. He stepped forward—_

_—and was suddenly face-down on the street. Seth blinked. The knife clattered on the stone, ripped from Neville’s grasp. Something was crouched on the man’s back like a large black cat. It raised its head, and pale limpid eyes met Seth’s. The temperature of the air plummeted. Seth’s wavering energy was snuffed out in an instant, overwhelmed by the dark energies that rushed in to fill this space. Darkness engulfed them, but Seth could still see the thing on Neville’s back. It was all he could see, its image cutting through even the grayness that had taken over his vision, standing out starkly against the night._

_It was a man, or looked like one, a sinewy figure with skin mottled black and red and white in strange patterns that seemed to shift when he moved. He was dressed only in faded brown breeches. He crawled over Neville’s unmoving form and toward Seth, smooth and graceful, muscles rippling, like a panther. Seth could not move, could hardly breathe. He knew this power, this presence._

_The Demon reached out and touched Seth’s cheek. The black fingers were cold as death. They sucked all the warmth from inside Seth, turning his blood to ice, freezing his heart and his lungs and his thoughts. A pulse of black magic stronger than anything he had ever felt ripped through him, and instinctively he knew it was his own, the power he had kept locked tightly away deep, deep in the recesses of his body and soul set suddenly free, roused from its slumber with a force like a blizzard rising without warning. He lost all sense of himself, consumed by it, ecstasy and sheer boundless potency. His eyes, wide and unseeing, were black. His veins stood out against his pallid skin, scorched black as well._

Breathe. _The voice echoed in his head but it was not his own, soft as a breath and gentle as a lover’s caress._ Breathe. You are not to die here. Finn won’t have it.

_He breathed, breathed deep, and came back to himself with such sudden force he felt like he had just run headlong into a wall. Warmth and light flooded in to displace the frigid dark, forcing it to retreat back into the depths where it was again imprisoned. His vision cleared. Sensation returned to his limbs in a rush, almost too much all at once, dizzying and disorienting. He collapsed onto his back, panting, head spinning, his heart pounding in his ears._

_Lying on his sword was quite uncomfortable. After several long moments, when some strength and coherent thought had come back to him, he pushed himself gingerly up into a sitting position._

_The Demon was gone. Neville was gone, too. A new black rose was lying where Neville had been, raindrops pattering off its solidified petals._


	6. Something in the Madness

_Somehow he managed to stumble his way back to the bar. The door was still locked, of course, and no one answered his knock. He balked at the idea of trying to again get someone’s attention by manipulating the fire inside the building, so he slumped down in the door way, tugging his cloak tighter around himself and hugging his knees to his chest. The roses were in his pocket because he didn’t want to touch them, but he could still feel them and the magic that bound them, like icicles piercing his skin. Every sensation was magnified, overwhelming—the endless drumming of the rain against the street, the cold dampness of the stone he was sitting on and the wood he was leaning against, the weight of his soaked clothes pressing into his body. He felt raw, exposed and vulnerable, like an open wound. Everything ached. He could hear his own frantic heartbeat, a maddening pounding in his head. He felt like he had just been hanging off the edge of a ravine, staring down into black bottomless space, and had been pulled to safety only at the last second._

Now _he was afraid, fear spilling over like water that had been rising and rising until finally it overflowed and flooded. For a moment, just a moment, his black magic had awakened; it had destroyed the poison that had been injected into him by the assassin’s needle, and it had nearly swallowed him whole. He had kept it contained for so long, trapped behind carefully constructed barriers of heat and light, like fires built to stave off the deadly winter night. Yet the Demon had touched him and all those barriers had collapsed, the frigid winds had blown out the flames, and every part of himself he’d tried so hard to suppress had rushed to the surface. Why?_ How?

_Kevin must have sensed him, because it was only a few minutes before the door opened. Kevin looked down at him with an expression of mild exasperation that quickly turned to confusion and concern. “What happened?”_

_“I was attacked,” Seth said. He made a half-hearted attempt at flippancy, “Sorry to impose upon you again, I know how busy you are—”_

_Kevin rolled his eyes and hunched over, taking Seth’s arm and hooking it around his shoulders. He hoisted Seth to his feet and helped him into the bar, calling for Sami. The two of them supported Seth on the way into their living quarters behind the bar and sat him down in front of the fireplace. Sami got him a blanket, gently removing his wet cloak. He sat down next to Seth, placing a reassuring hand between his shoulder-blades._

_“Talk,” Kevin ordered._

_Seth did. The fire was a comforting presence. He reached out, physically and mentally, to the familiar heat, enfolding himself in its elemental power like another blanket. It made him feel a little stronger, a little more like himself. “It was the demon,” he finished. “It left me another rose.” He took the flower out of his pocket and offered it as evidence._

_Sami was pale. Seth wondered, distantly, if Sami had been friends with Neville. It was possible. Naturally convivial, Sami tended to make friends with many of the assassins and thieves and assorted other criminals that operated in the World Kingdom’s underground. It benefited Kevin, making him look trustworthy by extension and providing him with a steady stream of information about the doings of these aforementioned criminals._

_Kevin looked intrigued. “It saved your life?”_

_Seth nodded. He drew the rose closer to him, closing his fingers around it as if to protect it, or conceal it. He told them about what had happened when the Demon touched him, the voice he’d heard. Sami and Kevin exchanged startled looks._

_“But you’re suppressing it again?” Kevin asked. “Your black magic?”_

_“Yes.” He paused. “It must have used my own power to get rid of the poison somehow. To…to save me.” His head still spun with the idea. Why?_

_Sami spoke the question aloud, countenance troubled. “Why?”_

_Kevin snorted. “Seems you have a demonic admirer, Rollins.”_

_Seth looked up sharply._

_Kevin shrugged. “You said it’s been watching you. The roses, saving your life…I’d say it’s in love with you, kid. Or at least, the man it’s possessing is. Don’t you think?”_

_Seth started to protest, to dismiss the idea as ridiculous, but he stopped._

You are not to die here. Finn won’t have it.

_“Finn,” he murmured, more to himself than to the others._

_“What?”_

_Seth raised his head again. “The…it said a name. Finn.”_

_Sami glanced at Kevin. “Ring a bell?”_

_Kevin’s eyes widened. “As a matter of fact…” He sat down on Seth’s other side. There was an underlying note of urgency in his voice now. “Describe what the demon looked like.” Seth did, and Kevin let out a soft exhale. “Ah. It’s Devitt.”_

_“_ Prince _Devitt?” Sami sounded incredulous. “How do you know?”_

_Kevin’s smile was grim. “I saw him once, fully taken over by his demon. It’s not something you forget. I heard his real name was Finn. Guess this confirms that.”_

_Seth shook his head, bewildered. “I thought Devitt was dead. AJ said he’d killed the man.”_

_“Did he?” Kevin seemed both amused and interested. “That’s what he told Hunter, huh? Well, it was a lie, unless what_ I’ve _heard is a lie. What I heard is that Styles chased Devitt into exile, but spared him his life. There’s been no word of Devitt having been seen since.”_

_Seth absorbed this information. That AJ could have lied to him was troubling, but only to the small part of him that insisted on believing friendships and alliances meant anything in this world, despite the fact he himself had severed—albeit not always permanently, if Kevin and Sami were any indication—every friendship and alliance he had ever had at one point or another._

_He knew little of Devitt. AJ Styles had become Emperor of the Kingdom of the New Sun a few months before Seth Rollins been named Crown Prince of the World Kingdom, and Seth had never cared to ask AJ about the man he’d usurped. Knowing Devitt had been a demon was quite enough for Seth. He’d desired no more information, especially since the Prince was dead._

_Except apparently he wasn’t dead. Apparently he was lurking around the castle of the King of Kings, watching Hunter, watching the nobles, and leaving black roses suspended in time as gifts for the Crown Prince._

_“I need to go,” Seth said abruptly, and tried to stand. His legs crumpled under him. Sami caught him._

_“I think maybe you should stay here tonight,” he suggested, anxious._

_“He’s right,” Kevin said mildly._

_Seth looked between them both, wanting to protest, but found he was just too tired. At length, he nodded._

***

Dean had been dozing in and out, thoughts of Roman and Seth— _friends, brother, lover, didn’t you know you were my whole world?_ —flitting across the edges of his consciousness like the shadowy half-seen shapes of night creatures, until a sharp blow to his side awoke him with a start.

“What the _fuck?_ ”

“Good morning,” Kevin said pleasantly, pulling back his foot; he had evidently kicked Dean. “We’re heading out.” He turned on his heel and started off, just like that.

Dean scowled, but Sami’s apologetic smile stopped the string of curses and death-threats he wanted to unleash at Kevin’s retreating back. He settled for grumbling under his breath as he stood up, brushing dirt and grass and probably a bug or two off his clothes.

He had spent most of last night meandering around the outskirts of the village, no doubt looking very much like a mournful spirit in his heavy black cloak, eventually settling down on the edge of a cornfield and falling into a fitful slumber. He couldn’t remember the name of this particular village they’d stopped in for the night, but it was as quiescent and nondescript as every other village they’d passed through over the last six days, no sign of the crumbling of the Kingdom evident, except perhaps for the ubiquitous look of uncertainty in the eyes of its residents.

He fell into step beside Sami, neither one of them making much effort to keep up with Kevin’s brisk pace.

“You said you’d never been to New Sun, right?” Sami asked. His tone was conversational, but Dean understood intuitively this was not the commencement of a casual chat. He glanced at Sami with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Right,” he grunted.

“Well, we’ll need to go through the Kingdom of Honor in order to get there.”

Dean shrugged. “All right. I did a job there once. I’m not unfamiliar with the territory.”

Kevin tossed them a glance over his shoulder. “It’s changed quite a bit since your ‘job’,” he said, “but that’s not the issue.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose. “There’s an issue?”

Kevin halted. Dean and Sami did as well, once they’d caught up to him. “There’s a bounty on Kevin’s head there,” Sami explained. “It’s old, and the Kingdom has a new King now so it might not even be active anymore, but of course we can’t assume.”

“Oh?” Dean was genuinely surprised. He had known Kevin—and Sami, under another name he refused to acknowledge for some reason—had grown up in the Kingdom of Honor, the same as Seth—who had also been using a different name then—had. None of them talked about it much. “Did you botch a job or something?”

Kevin scoffed, affronted by the very suggestion. “Of course not. I didn’t decide to become an assassin until after I came here, anyway. Someone offering me half a million gold to kill John Cena showed me the potential in such a career.”

Dean snorted. “Even after you failed?”

“I didn’t _fail_. I killed the son of a bitch. If the fool who hired me had had the sense to tell me Cena had the power to revive himself, I would have burned his body. A shame. We’re on his estate right now, did you know that?”

Dean had known that. Cena was a noble—and, paradoxically, a good man, by all accounts. He was the only one of the nobles who hadn’t imposed a sort of military dictatorship over the villages and cities on his estate after the death of the King. Dean, along with Seth and Roman, had tried to kill him once, too. Cena’s Restoration, as he called his magic, which allowed him to revive himself in case of death and almost instantly heal any wounds inflicted upon him, was certainly troublesome.

“So what did you do to earn a price on your head?” Dean asked. “Fuck the wrong guy?”

Sami chuckled at that. Kevin just rolled his eyes. “Let’s just say,” he said, flatly, “that I hung around with some real _scum_ in my younger days.”

There was something Dean wasn’t getting, some meaning hidden in the words that escaped him, but he decided not to press it. “So, you’ll have to keep out of sight, that’s what you’re saying? What do we do, hide you in the back of the wagon?”

Sami started to laugh again, muffling the sound behind his hand. Kevin gave him a dirty look. “Basically,” he said, clearly unhappy with the idea. “The Kingdom of Honor is small; it should only take us two or three days to cross it. It’s mostly forest, with just small villages scattered about, and the main road cuts straight through right into the Kingdom of the New Sun. We keep to it and not draw any attention to ourselves, we should be fine.”

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Dean said, a bit defensively, “I don’t have any problem not drawing attention to myself.” He sobered. “When will we get there?”

“Tomorrow, barring any unforeseen circumstances.” Kevin indicated for them to get a move on.

Soon they were back on the road. Dean had bought a horse in one of the villages they’d stopped in, a sturdy brown gelding named Ambra. Sami had insisted Dean pick the horse because his name was so similar to “Ambrose” and Dean, finding it a little amusing, had acquiesced. Sami had instantly taken to the horse, and the horse to him, it seemed. Sami called him “Amby.” When they’d gotten the animal, the owner had told them he loved sugar cubes, so Sami had bought a whole bundle of them, and he’d feed Amby one every time they stopped, brightly informing the horse he was a good boy and a mount worthy of kings. Amby would nuzzle his neck each time, as if in thanks.

A complex series of roads cut through the World Kingdom. The Main Road bisected the Kingdom in a more or less straight line in between the twisting paths of the Twin Rivers that flowed from the Hogan Mountains—so named because legend said Hulk Hogan had created the mountains in his epic struggle with the “Macho Man” Randy Savage centuries before; Dean rather doubted the veracity of the legend, but Seth had always firmly believed it was true—to the sea where the World Kingdom ended. They had followed the Main Road for a couple days, but then Kevin had turned them onto lesser travelled roads. It was on one of these roads they had run afoul of the Riott Squad.

The road they were travelling on now seemed to no longer be used at all, at least not by men and wagons. It was overgrown and crisscrossed with the tracks of animals, small and not so small. The ubiquity of bear tracks somewhat worried Dean. The forest had thickened around them, deciduous trees giving way to taller pines. The trees leaned in over the road so they formed a sort of natural tunnel, their towering silhouettes cutting into the sunlight. The air was growing chillier, Dean noticed. He shifted in the saddle, tugging his cloak tighter around himself. The fact the horses seemed unperturbed reassured him, but he couldn’t help but feel—

Suddenly, the earth rumbled.

Sami drew Generico to a stop just as Dean drew Ambra. They looked at each other. The quake had been brief, over in just a heartbeat, and it hadn’t been very strong. A flock of birds took flight, startled cries ringing in the air. Dean glanced up and then another quake hit, this one a little stronger, though it ended just as quickly. The horses whinnied and pawed uneasily at the ground, tossing their heads.

“That wasn’t normal,” Kevin murmured. Dean nodded, grimly.

Something was coming.

***

_Madness._

I’d say it’s in love with you, kid. Don’t you think?

_This was madness._

You are not to die here. Finn won’t have it.

_Utter madness._

Finn.

_He had to make sense of it, somehow._

_The rain had continued all through the night, but by day the clouds had gone and the Sun weaved golden silk to warm the land. In only a shirt and breeches—coat, tunic, and boots left abandoned in a careless pile somewhere by the back door to the kitchens he usually came out through—Seth walked across the gardens, soaking in the sunlight and clean air and pervasive scent of fresh earth. Sometimes this gilded prison he had chosen for himself felt almost like a home, when he didn’t stop to think about the throne, the man who sat upon it, and the reason he had made the choice he had two years ago. Sometimes, he almost liked this place._

_The memory of last night crept slyly along behind him, there in the silence between the erratic bursts of birdsong, in the dappled shadow of the trees, in the solitary clouds that passed over the Sun every now and then. He couldn’t help but remember, as well, that it had been here in the gardens where he had first encountered the presence of the Demon. He wasn’t avoiding these memories, but he held them at arm’s length, trying to study them with the clear detached eye of reason and weigh his options._

_The most obvious course of action was to talk to Kane. Kane had a brother, a necromancer of terrifying and legendary power known only by the morbidly appropriate appellation of Undertaker. When they were children, Undertaker had set their house on fire. Their parents had perished in the flames. Kane would have as well, but he had been practicing necromancy of his own and, trapped in a hell of smoke and heat and staring at the burning corpses of his own mother and father, in a last desperate act to save himself he had used the energies of the souls of his parents to summon a demon. He had survived, horrifically scarred and now the vessel of a force the child could neither comprehend nor control. He had grown up more monster than man, becoming nearly the terror his brother had._

_Kane’s demon had been exorcised years ago, but he was still the best person to go to for information about demons. Seth had no desire to do so, however. Kane wasn’t exactly a talkative man, and he particularly did not like to talk about his past. And he didn’t like Seth. He had made that very obvious. Seth considered Kane a dead-end._

_Seth also had the option of going to Hunter, but he dismissed that idea at once, too. Hunter would perhaps know more about demons than even Kane; he made a point of knowing more about his allies and enemies than they knew about themselves. Seth, however, had not told him about the black roses, about Neville, about any of this, and Seth had no intention to—at least not yet. That was an issue he would deal with later._

_Then, of course, there was Randy._

_Seth sighed, running a hand restlessly through his hair. He didn’t trust Randy, but…well, he knew Randy wouldn’t talk to Hunter. And Randy might actually have some answers. He, like Hunter, tended to know quite a bit more about the people around him than those people would necessarily find comfortable. And witches had ways of collecting information sorcerers did not._

_Seth thought of Randy’s cold blue eyes, his vicious smiles, his half-serious flirting, his unabashed love of mischief and violence. The way he sometimes put his hand on the small of Seth’s back, almost tender, almost like Dean used to; the way he’d sometimes look at Seth as if he wanted to devour him, and how that was a little like Dean, too, only there was nothing of love or any real desire in Randy’s gaze, just hunger, cruel and insatiable, like what he really wanted was to hurt Seth._

_No, not Randy._

_Seth had come upon the white roses. He stopped and sat down, reaching out to cup the petals of one flower in full bloom. He’d never much liked roses, honestly. It had never made sense to him why they would be associated with such things as love and innocence, although he supposed there was a certain ironic symbolism in a beautiful, ostensibly fragile thing with thorns beneath its colorful face._

_What did black roses stand for? He didn’t know._

_Cautious of the thorns, he picked the white rose. He ran a finger lightly over its petals, soft as silk. He imagined it solid as stone and cold as ice, suspended in time, never to wither or rot away._

_He had an idea, then._

Madness.

_Yes, but he had to do something. He had to know._

_That night, he placed the white rose he had picked earlier on his pillow. He had kept it all that day in a small glass vase with water, and the stem left a wet spot. He didn’t particularly mind. He waved a hand and doused the fire in the hearth. The darkness closed in around him so completely and so abruptly he almost felt it, like it had actual corporeal weight. Sitting on his bed, fully dressed, his longsword strapped to his back, he closed his eyes and took a breath. Tension crawled across his skin. He could hear his own heartbeat, rapid and anxious; it seemed to echo across the room, to shatter the silence, pounding against the walls, as if trying to escape._

_Finally, he stood and left. Joey was standing watch tonight outside his room. He was rather grateful for that, because Joey never said anything. He gave Seth a puzzled look—Seth hardly ever wandered out this late, and no doubt some of his nervousness showed on his face—but asked no questions, and Seth breezed past him with hardly a glance._

_The night was warm and clear; he hadn’t bothered with a cloak. Stars glimmered in a moonless sky._ New Moon _, he thought, and quirked a smile. A full moon might have been more fitting. Or maybe this was perfect._

_He walked almost the same path he had during the day, accompanied by the shrill, continuous music of insects. The castle loomed, silhouetted against the stars, without definition or presence, just another shape in the darkness. Seth supposed he was just another shape, too. A shadow amidst shadows. He had not brought a lantern and he, for now, wasn’t using his magic. He couldn’t make out much, making his way mostly by memory. Several times he had to resist the urge to glance over his shoulder to reassure himself no one was following him. The stillness wrapped around him like a noose. His own movements, his breaths, the racing of his heart, hardly seemed to disturb it, and for perhaps the first time in his life it occurred to him he was very small, a transient and inconsequential thing among many other transient and inconsequential things._

_He found the white roses and paused, just as he had done earlier. They were all closed now. Sleeping, maybe, like most of the world. Or maybe they were just waiting, as he was._

_He sat down, crossing his legs._

_He was on edge, ready to unravel, but the fear he had felt last night had seemed to diminish rather than grow, displaced by a rising sense of anticipation. Here in this night without a Moon, waiting for the dawn, here under the cold watchful eyes of the stars, anything could happen. Anything at all. This place, this moment, had a liminal quality to it, like once it had passed, once the light had returned and the roses—along with most of the other flowers—had reopened their petals, his life would change._

_He was far too anxious and—excited? Apprehensive?—to be sleepy, but he must have dozed a little, because when he felt the familiar dark presence behind him, it surprised him. He had been slumping a bit and now he sat straight, shoulders tense, eyes wide._

_For the span of exactly ten breaths—he counted them—Seth remained perfectly still, and so did the thing behind him. A gust of wind passed through, trembling the flowers and rustling the leaves of the trees. As it died, something changed. The inhuman frigidity of the demon fell away like a curtain, revealing mundane human vitality beneath. The presence behind him suddenly seemed smaller and much weaker. In the pulse of life-force he sensed only a trace of black magic, like a single black thread woven into a tapestry of otherwise bright colors._

_Seth stood. He raised a hand and gripped the hilt of his longsword. He began to glow, soft yellow-orange seeming to dance across his skin, the same smoldering light ringing the irises of his eyes. The temperature of the air around him shot up several degrees. He turned around, drawing his blade. It didn’t ignite, but fiery radiance shimmered from the surface of the steel. It cast a much wider circle of light than Seth himself, burning like a tiny captured star._

_The man standing there was sinewy and perhaps half a head shorter than Seth, wearing a pair of faded black breeches and nothing else. His hair was dark and short, his beard neatly trimmed. He had big round eyes that were probably blue, though the lambent brilliance made them look almost black. His face was a handsome one, and kind. Seth could see in his shape and features that this man was the same as the creature that had crawled off of Neville’s unmoving body toward him._

_The man was smiling. In both hands, held to his chest like something precious, he had the white rose Seth had left on his pillow._

_“Hello,” the man said. He spoke with an easy, ingenuous affability that reminded Seth of Sami. “It’s good to finally get to meet you face to face. I suppose you’ve been wondering about me.” He raised the flower to his face, sniffing briefly at its petals. “I was more than a little surprised, when I saw this on your bed. Took me a moment to guess what you might have meant. Seems I guessed right.”_

_“You’ve been watching me,” Seth said, coldly._

_The look of chagrin that crossed the man’s face surprised him. “I’m sorry if I frightened you,” he said, and sounded like he meant it. “I didn’t mean to.” He eyed Seth’s sword. “You can relax. I mean you no harm.”_

_Seth ignored this. “You’ve been watching the nobles and the King, too.”_

_The smile returned, and it was like watching someone put on a mask; suddenly his face was inscrutable. “So I have been. I’ve been watching the whole castle, as a matter of fact.”_

_“Why?” He stood perfectly steady, his grip was firm on his blade, but his voice shook just slightly on the word. His heart was still beating too fast._

_The man regarded him for a moment, silent. “Your name is Seth, right?” His smile broadened, and it lost that masklike quality; it now seemed warm, open. “I’m Finn.” Absurdly, he sketched a little bow. “Finn Balor.”_

_“Also known as Prince Devitt?” Seth asked, not really needing to but wanting to hear the answer._

_“Yes.”_

_Neither of them spoke for a beat. Then, almost accusatorily, Seth said, “AJ said he’d killed you.”_

_Finn appeared surprised by that. “Did he, now? Is that what he told the King? Well, I suppose he would have. The King of Kings might see it as weakness, allowing the man whose kingdom you stole to live on in exile instead of taking his head as an example.” He shook his head, still smiling. “Well, as you can see, I am here, very much alive. AJ Styles was generous enough to let me keep my life, though he exiled me from the only home I’d ever known. I’ve kept up a low-profile since then. Kept my identity hidden, came here, to a land where my name is known but my face unknown.”_

_“But why are you_ here _?” Seth demanded. “What do you want? Why have you been watching me? Why did you save me? Why…why have you been leaving me those roses?”_

_Finn looked back at the white rose he was holding. He brushed his fingertips over its petals and they appeared to stiffen, a subtle change in their appearance that told Seth the flower was now like his black roses, frozen, suspended in time. “Do you know about this power?” His tone was conversational, like they were two friends discussing trivialities. “It’s called Suspension. It—”_

_“I know what it does,” Seth cut in._

_He nodded. “A strange power.” He lapsed into silence again, studying the rose._

_“I really am sorry, if I frightened you. You must think me something of a creep. I swear I don’t usually do this. Follow people around like this. I mean, I haven’t really been following you around. Not all the time. I mean…” He huffed out a little laugh, seeming actually a bit embarrassed. Seth stared at him, bemused. This all felt surreal. Seth wasn’t sure what he had expected, but certainly not an attractive half-naked man who seemed friendly and…well, normal. None of this seemed to quite make sense, everything a little off-kilter, dreamlike._

_“It’s because of the Demon I’ve been able to get around the castle unnoticed. I’m sure you were wondering about that. He has the power to make himself completely invisible, and to make it so he can’t be sensed, even by powerful sorcerers such as yourself. It’s very useful. He’s something of a traditionalist, though.” He gestured to his bare torso. “He always does this to me. He hates clothes. It was a fight to get him to leave my pants on whenever he took control. I had to explain to him human beings have a thing called modesty. Ah, but I’m rambling, and not answering your questions.”_

_He paused. “As I said, I’ve been watching everyone in the castle. But you rather piqued my interest, if I may be so bold, Your Majesty.” He grinned._

_Seth’s brow furrowed slightly. He tightened his grip on his blade. “Why?”_

_“Ah, well.” He rubbed the back of his neck. It was hard to tell in this light, but it looked like he might be blushing. “You know, I’ve seen you many times, out in the cities. You’ve never noticed me, of course; I can’t make myself invisible but I do know how to be inconspicuous. But I’ve noticed you. You’re out there a lot, mingling among the peasants. I’ve always thought it strange none of them seem…well, to like you very much. But then, you do have a reputation. A traitor, I hear you are. A mercenary, heartless as you are beautiful. Not to mention, you do act rather arrogant and contemptuous toward the masses.” It seemed to amuse him. Seth felt even more bemused._

_“I’ve wanted to approach you, but knowing who you are, I knew I couldn’t. I’m putting myself at great risk right now, revealing myself to you.” He looked back down at the white rose. “Ah, but how could I resist your invitation?_

_“It was the Demon’s idea, the black roses. I didn’t know he was going to do it. He does things sometimes without consulting me first. He always thinks he knows best. Something about being eternal, supposedly he’s wise.” He scrunched his nose in mock-exasperation, and then he smiled again. “I wanted you to know I was here. I wanted you to know…” His voice softened. “I wanted you to know that I have no intention of hurting you. The Demon knew that, and his idea was to leave you the roses. He thought it…uh, romantic.”_

_Kevin’s voice echoed in Seth’s head:_ I’d say it’s in love with you, kid. Or at least, the man it’s possessing is. _His heart skipped. Disquieted, he took a step back. Finn noticed, and his eyes widened briefly._

_“I swear, Seth, I’m not going to hurt you. That’s the last thing I want. You must know that.”_

_Seth did, in truth; he thought he had known it from the start. He found it didn’t offer much comfort. He remembered the Demon’s touch, the sudden, savage awakening of his suppressed black magic._

_“Were you following me, last night?” he asked._

_Finn nodded. “After the attempt was made on the Queen’s life…I was worried. All the nobles desire the throne, as I’m sure you’re aware. I hear the things they whisper to each other, forming plots, conspiracies, and then laughing them off because they know they can’t really do anything. But I thought perhaps one of them might actually be trying to carry out one of those plots. That one…the witch, Orton…” He shifted, a trace of unease seeming to cross his expression. “At any rate, I was worried for you. You’re very powerful, but you choose to be on your own more often than not, and it only takes one moment of unawareness. So yes, I was following you. I’m glad I was.”_

_Seth shook his head. “Why? What do you want? What do you want with_ me _?”_

_Smiling, Finn said, “I want to kill the King. I was hoping you’d join me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Summerslam weekend, everybody!
> 
> Oh boy, sorry this is such a long chapter. I really, really wanted Seth and Finn to meet in this chapter, so...yeah, it got a bit long. From now on I'll probably start evening out how much of the past and present goes into each chapter. I hope it's not too jarring to read the italics. 
> 
> Just to clarify - as you might have guessed, the "Kingdoms" in this story are different wrestling promotions. The "World Kingdom" is obviously WWE. The "Kingdom of the New Sun" is New Japan. The "Kingdom of Honor" is...you'll never guess it...Ring of Honor. So, yes, there will be some NJPW and ROH guys in this first arc (there are going to be two arcs to this story). Not many, but some. And fun fact, if you didn't know: Kevin (going by the name Kevin Steen) was part of an anarchist faction in Ring of Honor called "S.C.U.M." ;) 
> 
> So many thanks to all of you that have been reading so far. I hope you keep enjoying this not-so-little story of mine! :3


	7. Drink and the Demon

_The tavern was small, noisy, and stank of mingled sweat and alcohol and grease. Men were laughing, arguing, shouting, and swinging tankards around, and Seth went largely unnoticed. He debated for a moment, and then ordered himself a tankard of beer. He generally avoided alcohol, mostly because he didn’t like the taste, but for some reason it seemed appealing today. He received his drink and maneuvered his way through stumbling drunks and waving arms, choosing an unoccupied table in a shadowed corner._

_He sipped at the beer, discovered it tasted awful, and set it down with a grimace. He sloshed the liquid around in the cup for a while, listening with vague distaste to the ruckus around him, waiting. He didn’t have to wait long._

_Seth sensed Finn come in and sat up straighter, suddenly alert, like a deer that has just heard what might be the approach of a predator. It was easy to keep track of Finn among all these weak, non-magical life-forces. If Seth concentrated, he could not only sense the presence of another but follow their movements; he felt Finn head towards the bar, linger there a few minutes, and then start heading toward where Seth was sitting. So he could sense life-forces, too. That wasn’t really a surprise. Most powerful sorcerers could. Sorcerers became more powerful the more in tune they were with their own magic, and being completely in tune with one’s own magic seemed to open a sort of sixth sense in people. Necromancers, in particular, had a very strong ability to sense others, because they could sense—and control—souls._

_Finn slipped into the chair across from Seth, taking a hearty drink of his tankard. When he lowered it, he was smiling. His eyes were indeed very blue, Seth observed. He was dressed in a black tunic and black shirt, dark brown breeches, and scuffed boots. He folded his hands on the table beside his tankard and said, warmly, “Hello, Seth.”_

_Seth propped his elbow on the table and rested in chin on his palm. He took a moment to assess the man sitting across from him through hooded eyes. Finn assessed him in return._

_“Why here?” Seth asked, finally._

_Finn shrugged. “I thought a public place might put you more at ease. This was just the first place that came to mind.”_

_Seth’s eyebrows rose. Finn laughed._

_“Not that I frequent this place, mind! I was just here that afternoon, before we talked, so it’s what popped into my head.” He shrugged again, a self-conscious gesture. “I thought we could share a drink or two.” He raised his tankard as if in salute and took another sip._

_“So,” he said, lowering his voice, “I suppose you already know a little about me.”_

_“Not much,” Seth admitted, also speaking quieter. He glanced around them to assure no one was listening. Not that it really mattered; none of these fools were likely to remember even if they did overhear something unusual. Anyway, Hunter did not bother with spies among the general public as previous kings had. He considered that crass. “I know who you are, and I know_ what _you are. Other than that, you are a mystery.”_

_“AJ doesn’t talk about me?” He said it like a joke, but there was an almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders._

_“Not to me. He told me what he’d done, but little else. I never asked. I wasn’t particularly interested.”_

_Finn put a hand over his heart with an expression of mock-hurt. “And here I thought I made for a very interesting figure.”_

_Seth eyed him, unimpressed. “You must know more than a little about me, if you’ve been watching me so long.”_

_“I do know a thing or two about you. Seth Rollins, a sorcerer with fire magic. You have nearly perfect control over your power, which is very rare for elementals, especially those with fire. Fire is such a strange, wild element…but then, I hear you’re rather difficult to control, yourself.” His eyes sparkled. There was something like admiration in those eyes, and Seth couldn’t help but shift a little in his seat, disconcerted. “You were once a mercenary, one of a group of three. You called yourselves The Shield. You three were well known not only for your ruthless efficiency and just general ruthlessness but also for why you did what you did. The Shield claimed to dole out justice…at the highest bidder, of course. You targeted criminals and nobles alike, fearless, and seemingly unstoppable. You three were also famous for your brotherhood, the bond that held you together, unbreakable…until you broke it. Until you nearly killed your two brothers, and joined with the King of Kings. From the way people tell the story, you left this whole kingdom in shock. You’ve become rather notorious. Many seem to be of the opinion you deserve to suffer for what you’ve done.”_

_Seth let out a snort of sardonic amusement. Finn’s smile broadened._

_“You don’t seem to mind. In fact you hardly pay any attention to other people at all, from what I’ve seen. Except when you’re getting into fights. Most people just avoid you, I assume because you’re the Crown Prince and a very powerful sorcerer with very destructive magic and they’re afraid to get on your bad side, but sometimes people get in your face exactly for this reason, it seems. Am I right? A couple weeks ago I saw a man confront you on the street. He was a large man and very drunk, and I guess these two things gave him confidence. You drew your blade and threatened to cut his throat, but in the end you just punched him right in the face and walked away, left him with no more serious injuries than a broken nose and broken pride. I found that interesting. I was surprised you didn’t burn him to a crisp.”_

_Seth’s face hardened. He remembered that incident. Hunter had been displeased when word of it got back to him, but he’d asked Seth essentially the same thing:_ Why didn’t you reduce him to a pile of ashes in the street? _Seth didn’t know why, or why he hadn’t set on fire the other drunk fool who’d started yelling at him and calling him a traitor at a tavern in the city of Witch’s Circle, or why he had not killed Neville when he had the chance._

_“The man who attacked me the other night, the man you stopped from killing me, is he dead?” The question surprised even him. He had not realized he meant to ask it until it was out of his mouth._

_Finn’s smile faded. He looked somber. “Would it trouble you if he was?”_

_Seth thought about it. “No.”_

_Finn leaned forward, folding his arms on the table. “Do I frighten you, Seth?”_

_Seth regarded him, coldly. “No.”_

_Finn glanced down at his drink, frowning now. The expression seemed odd on him. Seth studied him, curiosity piqued by the way he was acting, fidgeting and not meeting Seth’s gaze. Like he was ashamed…or unnerved. Was Neville dead, then? And had Finn wanted to kill him, or had it been the Demon, acting on its own? Was that why Finn wouldn’t just tell him?_

_After a few moments of silence Finn lifted his eyes and smiled again, softly. “I’m sure you’re less than eager to trust me, Seth, for all sorts of reasons. But I would very much like you to join me, if you’re willing. I think we could help each other.”_

_“Do you?” Seth folded his arms on the table and leaned in, imitating Finn’s posture. “And why, exactly, do you think I_ would _be willing?”_

_Finn’s eyes were sparkling again, stunning blue. “I think we want the same thing.”_

_“Oh, do you? And what is it you really want, Balor?” His voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible over the din of the place. “The throne?”_

_“Of course. And you do, too, don’t you? It’s the reason you joined with the King in the first place, isn’t it? Why you turned on your partners, your ‘brothers’?”_

_Seth just looked at him for a moment, mouth twisted in what wasn’t quite a sneer. “If it was, why would I join you? Do you think that because you saved my life and you’ve given me some pretty flowers I’m going to step aside and let you take what’s rightfully mine in the first place?”_

_“Of course not,” Finn replied, calmly, as if it was obvious. “But I figure we can settle that issue when the time comes. I have a solution, mind, but it will ultimately come down to you.”_

_There was another brief silence, and then Seth burst out laughing. He muffled the sound with both hands so no one would hear and notice them. He stared at Finn, incredulous. “You’re serious?”_

_Finn grinned back, his eyes alight. “Do you think I’d be here if I wasn’t, Seth?”_

_Seth shook his head._ Madness, _he thought…but he was intrigued. Intrigued by this strange man, intrigued by this strange man’s offer. There was opportunity here. Impossible not to see it, not when he had spent so much time grasping, hoping for something,_ anything _._

_“Why me?” he asked at length, when he’d gotten a hold on himself._

_Finn wrapped both hands around his tankard and regarded Seth, his smile diffident again. “Like I said, Seth, you interest me.”_

_“Why?” There was just a trace of an edge to his voice now. A challenge, maybe. Or a threat._

_Finn considered, taking a sip of his drink. “You seem…unhappy.”_

_Seth stiffened, taken aback._

_“You spend most of your time…well, hiding, it seems. You seem to just kind of wander, not really doing anything or going anywhere, staying mostly outside the castle or in those beautiful gardens. Forgive me if I’m wrong, but it seems like you’re…” He waved his hands vaguely. “Restless, I guess is the word I’m looking for. Like you’re waiting for something.”_

_Seth said nothing. He was gripping his forearms, tightly._

_“I suppose this is the part where I tell you I’m what you’ve been waiting for.” He laughed. “And, in all honesty? I’d like to actually get to know you. I think we could work well together. I think you might be what I’ve been waiting for, too.”_

_Seth’s lips parted, but if he’d meant to speak, the words were lost before they even really began to form. A beat of silence passed between them, Finn watching him with those bright blue eyes and that seemingly perpetual smile. He had a nice smile. He had to have been several years older than Seth, but when he smiled the inevitable marks of time melted away from his face and he looked like a much younger man._

_Seth pushed away from the table and stood up. His voice was even, inflectionless. “The beer here is terrible.”_

_“Oh, I don’t think it’s that bad.” Finn took a good long swallow and set the tankard back down with emphasis. He looked warmly up at Seth. “Think about it. Let me know. Leave me a white rose, if the answer’s yes.”_

***

When the next quake hit, it was strong enough to rattle the wagon and make the horses stumble. The animals whinnied anxiously and tried to bolt, but Dean and Sami managed to hold them in place. Kevin leapt off the wagon. After a brief hesitation, Dean dismounted and stepped up next to him, holding tight to Ambra’s reigns.

“What do you think?” he asked, quietly, and then the earth shook again, stronger, throwing them all off balance. Ambra tossed his head, his eyes wide and rolling, lips pulled back. He was growing increasingly frightened, and so was Generico, and so, he had to admit, was Dean.

“Those are footsteps,” Kevin said, confirming precisely the thought that had just jumped into Dean’s head.

“We should turn aro—” He was cut off by yet another quake. He held his horse’s reigns in a death-grip, patting the animal’s neck and murmuring reassuring words Amby didn’t seem to hear.

“We can’t turn around,” Kevin snapped. He had to grab onto one of the shafts connecting the wagon to Generico to keep upright when another quake shook the ground beneath their feet. They were getting stronger every time, and closer together. “There’s only one other way to get to New Sun, and we’d have to pass through Minoru Suzuki’s territory. Trust me, you don’t want that.”

Dean had no idea who Minoru Suzuki was, but he was pretty sure they didn’t want _this_ , either, whatever it was. He didn’t get a chance to say that, however, because the earth shook once more, and this time both Kevin and Dean were thrown to their knees. Ambra’s reigns slipped out of Dean’s hands. The horse turned around and bolted. Dean heard Sami cry out after the animal; dimly, he registered that Sami must have paralyzed Ambra.

“Oh, fucking hell,” Kevin spat out, and slammed a hand into the ground. The world stilled. Dean blinked, looking up. Kevin was panting, his face pinched, strained. “Earth magic,” he explained, briskly. “I hate using elemental magic. It’s tiresome.”

Dean stood up. There were no more quakes, but Dean could now hear what were unmistakably footsteps—huge, heavy, pondering steps, punctuated by the crunch of dried needles. Walking along the road, headed right for them. He flicked both wrists and the two daggers he’d kept hidden in his sleeves appeared in his hands. Kevin didn’t get up, his small, sharp eyes fixed straight ahead. Sami jumped off the driver’s bench of the wagon and stepped in front of Kevin, hands raised, palms outward. Dean saw that Generico seemed to be frozen in mid-rear, like a very life-like statue, and realized Sami had paralyzed both the horses.

A great, hairy shape came around the bend. At first Dean thought it was an impossibly large bear, but observed that it was dressed in dirty, tattered clothes and its shape was very manlike. It raised its head then and he saw that it was not an impossibly large bear, it was an impossibly large man, easily nine feet tall, arms and legs as thick as the trunks of oak trees, round face mostly obscured by long, thick brown hair and beard. Small black eyes regarded them. The giant stopped.

They all only stared at each other for what seemed like a very long time. Then the giant spoke, in a voice deep and rumbling like the earth. “Who are you?” There was no hostility in the words, but there was the _threat_ of hostility in the way the giant studied them, the way his massive hands clenched into massive fists.

“Just travelling merchants,” Sami said pleasantly. He had lowered his hands and put on a radiant smile, instantly and effortlessly. Not taking his eyes off the giant, he furtively shuffled closer to Dean and elbowed him in the side. It took Dean a moment to get the unspoken message: _Put the daggers away._ He did, flicking them back up into his sleeves, and stepped back. If they could get out of this without a fight, so much the better.

“We’re on our way to the Kingdom of the New Sun,” Sami told the giant. “I’m Sami, this is Kevin, and this is Dean. What’s your name?”

“Braun.” The giant eyed Sami mistrustfully, but curiously. “Braun Strowman. What’s wrong with the horses?”

Sami blinked, and then laughed with good-natured embarrassment. “Ah, well, the horses were frightened by the way the ground was shaking. That was you, I suppose? I used my magic to paralyze them so they wouldn’t run away.”

“Oh,” Braun said. “Silly things.”

“Yes. May we pass through, Braun? We’re just on our way to New Sun, and this is the only road.”

Braun’s small eyes narrowed. “This is my land.”

Dean tensed, prepared to take out his daggers again at any instant. Beads of sweat stood out on Sami’s brow, but he kept calm. “We mean no harm or disrespect, Braun. We’d just like to pass through.”

“This is my land,” Braun repeated, implacably.

“Yes, of course.” Sami put his hands together and bowed at the waist. He started speaking quicker, his nervousness breaking through. “We understand, of course. We mean absolutely no disrespect, we only want to pass through. You won’t even know we were here.”

Braun seemed to think about it, appraising them, head tilted slightly to the side. Then, “No.”

“Very well, Braun,” Sami said with false and exaggerated cheer, “we’ll just turn around, leave you be.” He waved his hands in Braun’s direction, and Dean understood he was using his magic. Braun, however, was not instantly paralyzed. He just nodded and started walking again, seeming to dismiss them. Sami paled. Dean’s heart skipped and then started racing. Sami’s magic hadn’t worked. As far as Dean knew, that had never happened before.

Kevin realized it, as well, and his face screwed up in concentration. He raised his hands, balled them into fists, and then slammed them into the ground. He screamed as he did it. Veins stood out on his forehead. The earth rumbled, throwing Dean and Sami off their feet and making the giant stagger, and then the earth began to _rise,_ great mounds of mud and stone and tree roots bursting up like the formation of a mountain range, boxing Braun in on all sides. Braun eyes widened in surprise and then narrowed in sudden, absolute fury. He lashed out, and the mound of earth rising in front of him crumbled. But it continued to rise, the ground shaking and roaring beneath them, and Braun roared, too, bringing both fists down on the growing wall of earth trying to imprison him. Rock and dirt and bits of tree root flew everywhere. Braun burst through it, still roaring, his features twisted into something terrible, monstrous. He charged toward them, head lowered like a bull.

Dean flicked his wrists and tossed the daggers that dropped from inside his sleeves into his hands, aiming for the giant’s eyes. The fact the whole world was shaking like mad underneath him did not help his aim, however, and only one dagger struck, leaving a deep laceration beneath Braun’s right eye. The giant didn’t even seem to feel it. Kevin slammed a fist into the trembling earth again and another mound of dirt and rock burst up in Braun’s path. He barreled right through it.

“Dammit!” Dean shouted, his voice lost in the roaring of the earth and the giant, and he ran to Sami, who had been thrown to his knees and was simply staring as if he’d paralyzed himself. Dean grabbed his shoulders and crouched behind him, yelling, “Paralyze him, Sami! Do it, dammit!”

Power surged through him and into Sami like an electrical current, and Sami jerked like he’d been shocked, his hand flying up like a puppet’s arm pulled by a string. Braun froze. Kevin stopped his magic with a startled gasp and the ground went still. Kevin collapsed onto his hands and knees. Sami would have, too, but Dean wrapped an arm around his middle and held him up. His face was slack, his eyes unseeing.

For a long moment, the only sound was their labored breathing and the distant cries of birds. Slowly, Sami seemed to come back to himself, blinking rapidly. Dean could feel his pulse, a staccato beat under his splayed fingers.

“What…the… _hell_ , Dean? What… _was_ that?”

Dean laughed unsteadily, resting his chin on Sami’s shoulder. His head was swimming. Sami was probably keeping him upright as much as he was keeping Sami upright. “Sorry, Sam. I had to…do something.”

Kevin was sitting up. His face was red and sweaty but his eyes were sharp, locked on Dean. “You used your magic, didn’t you?” His voice trembled on the edge of reproach and anger, but he couldn’t quite hide the underlying trace of fear.  

“That was…your magic?” Sami asked, bewildered.

“Augmentation,” Kevin said. “That’s what you call it, right?”

It was what Seth had called it. Dean’s smile was weak, without much humor. “Yeah. It’s one of my...one of my powers. I can…use my magic to strengthen other…people’s magic. I used to…to do it for Roman and Seth.”

“Well, shit,” Sami marveled. That got both him and Dean laughing, breathless and near-hysterical. Kevin didn’t join them, looking at Dean, at the way Dean was holding on to Sami, with a cold, distrustful eye. It didn’t escape Dean’s notice. He wanted to tell Kevin it was fine, Sami was going to be fine, Seth and Roman had always been fine…well, had _usually_ been fine. He had nearly killed Seth once trying to use this power, but only once, because he had been very careful since then, _very_ careful, and—

The world was going black. He realized Sami was no longer laughing and had gone limp in his arms only a second before he himself passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Braun cameo! There were like three ways I wanted to do his scene and I could not for the life of me pick one. Finally I just went with this, lol. 
> 
> Seriously, thanks so much to all of you that have been reading/leaving kudos/comments. You all are the best. *blows kiss*


	8. Black

_Black magic was little understood and widely feared. When Hunter had taken control of the World Kingdom almost two decades ago, it had been left nearly in ruins after a long, long period of essentially ineffectual kings and The Undertaker and Kane running rampant in the land. Hunter had outlawed the practice of necromancy and initiated what turned into a pogrom against sorcerers of black magic. Seth had still been in the Kingdom of Honor when it occurred, but he remembered Jimmy talking about it. Jimmy had seemed amused. Seth had been frightened._

_In truth, Seth could understand. Necromancers, sorcerers who manipulated the souls of the dead and used the energies of those souls to fuel their magic, were very rare. Most of them turned out to be like Jimmy Jacobs, half-mad wraiths no longer bound by the trappings of the living and consumed with chasing the ostensibly boundless potential of their own inherent potency. Those who did not go mad turned out like The Undertaker, all but the barest vestiges of humanity gone, creatures of arcane power and dark greed, strong enough to suck the life from all around them and usually willing to do it. It was a dangerous thing, playing with death. One could easily forget they weren’t dead themselves._

_It was not particularly surprising, then, that no books had ever been written on the subject of black magic. At least, Seth had never found any, and back during those years he had spent under Jimmy’s tutelage—and under Jimmy’s thumb—he had searched all over the Kingdom of Honor and the Kingdom of the New Sun, where necromancy was practiced openly even today. He had heard of books that had been written on black magic, the rumors always more and more horrific and fanciful—books bound in human skin; books written not in ink but in human blood; books that only revealed their contents when a sacrifice was made to them and the blood of said sacrifice was poured onto their covers; books that would slowly eat away at the life-force of anyone reading them, until said readers finally died, never realizing what was happening because they were so engrossed in the horrors they were reading; books only the dead could read._

_It all sounded like bullshit to Seth, and also like things Jimmy would try to do if he ever wanted to write a book._

_Seth had never come across any of these fabled tomes, certainly not in Hunter’s vast collection. Any such books would have the mark of black magic shrouding them like stormclouds, and they would stand out like an ink blot on a colorful painting. He had never sensed anything like that, looking through the royal library. Even if he had, he wasn’t sure he would have ever tried to actually read any such volumes. He had taken great care to avoid anything to do with necromancy for years, ever since he had broken free of Jimmy and sworn never to use the magic again. It was part of the reason he had come to the World Kingdom, a place where black magic was outlawed and necromancers were summarily executed upon discovery._

_Now, however, there was a demon outside these walls, beckoning to him._

_Seth had learned most of what he knew of magic from books. Jimmy had taught him all he knew of black magic, but there had been no one to teach him about white magic after he discovered he was able to use that, as well. So he had taught himself, through careful exploration of his newfound abilities—careful, but often disastrous; it was very difficult to keep fire under control—and through numerous books that delineated every facet of the various different manifestations of white magic and how they might be commanded and utilized. It was probably natural for him to be falling back on old habits and looking now for a book to give him the answers he sought, even though he knew his search was fruitless. It wasn’t out of the question for Hunter to have books on black magic lying around, gathering information was after all one of the quite effective strategies he had employed to gain and maintain power, but if he did he did not keep them here in the library. Seth was almost certain of this, but here he was anyway, walking through the stacks, reading book titles, pulling out tomes to riffle briefly through them and then put them back in disappointment. He was here less because he actually thought he was going to find something and more because he needed to gather his thoughts and he didn’t want to be in his room or in the gardens right now._

_He had picked a white rose earlier, almost as soon as he had returned to the castle. It was now in a vase with water in his chambers, a symbol that he’d already made a decision, mad as it was._

_Seth knew nothing of demons. Jimmy had—mercifully—never been interested in such things, and neither had Seth. He knew demons were all but impossible to fight. Demons made the sorcerers they possessed infinitely more powerful, he knew that, too. He had heard enough stories about Kane and the things Kane had done. He saw what Kane was like even now, the demon long gone._

_Seth sighed and sank to the floor, leaning back against the bookcase, his head resting on a lower shelf. The book in his hands was titled “Secrets of Magic.” Seth had already read it a few months ago; it hadn’t had many secrets to divulge, at least not for Seth. There were passing mentions of black magic hidden in the text, but nothing particularly substantial or interesting. Seth hugged the book to his chest. The warm shimmer of white magic that hung like fine mist around it was comforting._

You seem…unhappy.

_It was almost funny. “Unhappy.” Hadn’t he always been? There had been moments of happiness, sure. Falling asleep in the warmth of Dean’s arms, Roman placing a soft brotherly kiss on his brow, ruffling Dean’s hair and Dean scrunching up his nose trying to pretend he was annoyed, Roman sweeping him up in a tight embrace that lifted him right off the ground—a thousand little moments, a thousand little things, all that made him feel brief, brilliant flashes of joy. But that was all they’d ever been, really. Flashes. There and then gone, leaving him feeling empty again, and restless, like—_

Like you’re waiting for something.

_“And you’re what I’ve been waiting for,” Seth murmured, gazing unseeing at the domed roof._

_This was madness, and the craziest thing about it was he thought he could trust Finn Balor._

_Maybe it was something in those eyes, the deep, perfect blue of late summer skies. Maybe it was the way those eyes had looked at him, curiosity and desire and a kind of eager anticipation, a clear reflection of his own murkier feelings._

_A great, looming presence entered the library. Seth closed his eyes and mentally followed it as it moved in his direction, until he could hear heavy footsteps and the soft swish of robes. He opened his eyes only when it was upon him, pausing as it reached where he was sitting._

_“Hey there, you,” Hunter said, smiling. It made his face look almost kind, carving deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “I’ve been looking for you.” He sat down on the floor next to Seth, steel-grey robes billowing out around him._

_“Well, you found me.”_

_Hunter appeared serene, but there was a subtle tension in the set of his shoulders, Seth noticed. “What do you have there?” he asked, indicating the book Seth was still holding. Seth offered it to him. He raised an eyebrow. “‘Secrets of Magic?’ I thought you already read this one.”_

_“I did. I was thinking of reading it again, but after flipping through it a bit I remember it wasn’t very good.”_

_Hunter snorted. “Utterly useless to anyone except a total novice, which you certainly are not.” He passed the book back. “Charlotte requested a private audience with me today.”_

_“Did she?”_

_“She told me she feels like she’s being watched.”_

_Seth affected surprise. “What?”_

_“She said that when she arrived here for the council, she felt as if someone was watching her as she passed through the gates. Since then she says there have been times, mostly at night, when she’s been absolutely certain someone else was in the room with her, although no one was there. She told me the presence she’s sensed feels like a necromancer. Have you felt anything like that, like there’s someone, someone with black magic, around the castle?”_

_Seth shook his head, putting on a look of bemusement. “No, of course not. If I had, I would have told you.”_

_Hunter frowned, deep creases cutting into his brow. “I would certainly hope, especially after the attempt on Stephanie’s life.” There was the slightest trace of danger in the words, an implicit reminder of which one of them had all the authority. He turned his face away and his tone softened. “I haven’t noticed anything, but it worries me. A necromancer lurking around my kingdom is a troubling thought in itself, but the thought one might have been here in the castle and is now stalking one of my nobles is very troubling.”_

_Seth nodded, thinking,_ I bet the thought of a demon stalking you and your nobles and trying to convince your heir to help kill you would be very, very troubling.

 _“I’ve sensed no presence of black magic,” he said aloud. “But that doesn’t mean anything. It might be someone has their sights set on Charlotte, though it’d be foolish for a necromancer to come anywhere near the castle.”_ Even more foolish for a necromancer to be sneaking around the castle at night, leaving flowers on the Crown Prince’s pillow and plotting to kill the King. _He almost smiled, but managed to keep on looking thoughtful and appropriately perturbed. “What are you going to do?”_

_“A good question. My spies would have reported any unusual activity around Charlotte. I’ve invited her to stay here at the castle for now if that will allay her fears. She’s quite disturbed, and I can’t say I blame her.”_

_“Has anything…happened?”_

_“Not that she told me. It’s just her feeling. She said it’s grown stronger over the last couple of days. She awoke last night in terror, certain there was someone standing over her, although she found herself alone.”_

_Seth let his head fall back against the bookshelf, musing. What was Finn doing? He knew what Finn had planned for the King, but he hadn’t asked about the nobles. Did he intend to kill them, too? How much did he know, exactly?_

_“Styles told you about Prince Devitt, didn’t he?” Hunter questioned presently._

_The abrupt change of subject caught Seth off guard. He blinked at Hunter. “Devitt? Yeah, AJ told me about him. He told me about usurping him, anyway. Why?”_

_Hunter’s expression had darkened, his eyes distant, as if remembering. “I wonder if Styles told the truth about what happened with Devitt. If he really managed to kill him. There are rumors Devitt still lives, that Styles forced him into exile rather than executed him. I always did think it strange Styles had not chosen to publicly execute Devitt as usurpers often do.”_

_Seth shrugged. “AJ was one of Devitt’s men. He might have considered it a mercy. I believe AJ. Why? You don’t think it could be_ Devitt _, do you?” His tone suggested bafflement at the idea Hunter could even entertain such a thought._

_Hunter didn’t reply for a moment. “No, but not all of his men chose to stay with Styles. As far as I know none of them were necromancers, but I had very little dealings with Devitt. His isolationist policies precluded much contact between our kingdoms, and I had no desire to play politics with man who sold his soul to a demon.” He spat out the last word as if it was something repulsive._

_After a long period of silence, Hunter stood up. He extended a hand to Seth. “Take a walk with me.” It wasn’t really framed as a request._

_Seth took the King’s hand and let Hunter pull him to his feet. He took “Secrets of Magic” with him without thinking about it._

***

Dean woke slowly, aware at first only that he was very warm and cozy. He shifted and noticed he had an arm around a soft, breathing weight pressed against the length of his body. He snuggled his face closer into the softness and breathed in a sweet, familiar scent. It felt so good to lie here like this. He could stay like this for eternity.

Eventually Dean opened his eyes. Seth was lying curled up under his arm, sound asleep, his hair a tangled raven cloud around his face. Dean pushed back the long curls and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his neck, taking in his scent again, letting him consume each one of his senses. Seth stirred, turning to look at Dean, big brown eyes half-closed. A sleepy little smile curved his mouth.

“Hey,” he murmured.

“Hey,” Dean murmured back. Tenderly, he brushed away the curls hanging in Seth’s face, his fingertips tracing across Seth’s brow and cheeks. It seemed important to touch him, to keep touching him, although Dean could not have said why, or why he felt such an awful, desperate ache in his chest. Seth shifted so he was lying on his back, cuddling closer, closing his eyes and sighing softly at Dean’s caresses. Dean kissed his lips, embracing him tighter, vaguely puzzled at the force of emotion that choked him, made his breath catch in a small sound that wasn’t quite a sob. Seth slipped his fingers into Dean’s hair and kissed him again, with more heat this time. His other arm wrapped around Dean’s middle and pulled him over at the same time his leg coiled around Dean’s, dragging Dean on top of him. When they parted, Seth stroked his face, smiling, the sleep gone from his eyes.

“I love you,” Seth said, and that was when blinding pain ripped through Dean. Seth’s hand was no longer on his face. Dean looked down, wide-eyed and pale, and saw that Seth had his fire-red longsword in his hands. They weren’t lying down, wrapped up together in bed; they were standing, Seth regarding him coldly, his sword buried in Dean’s midsection. Blood, a darker, deeper red than the steel itself, streamed over the blade with dreamlike slowness. Someone was laughing, somewhere. The King of Kings.

“Why?” Dean asked, his voice faraway, infinitesimal. Seth didn’t answer him.

Dean awoke with a shout.

He sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and frightened, his hands immediately going to the daggers concealed in his coat. It was then he realized he was in pain, but not because he had been stabbed, and neither Seth nor the King were there. His whole body ached, the pain the worst in his face, his cheek throbbing. He reached up to touch it, gingerly, and winced. He had one hell of a bruise.

He glanced around, understanding setting in that he had been dreaming. He had been lying on the ground; someone had draped a thin blanket over him. A small fire crackled serenely near him. It was dark. Nighttime. The looming silhouettes of trees encircled the little camp. Dean saw the wagon, and the horses, tied to trees and grazing contently. They were in the forest, in a clearing. He seemed to be alone, except for the horses. There was no sign of Kevin and Sami.

Panic gripped him and he scrambled to his feet, yelling, “Sami? Kevin? Sami!”

Kevin emerged from the wagon. “Shut up, Ambrose.” The words dropped from his lips like stones, heavy and cold and hard. Dean shut up. His shoulders slumped, and he crumbled back to the ground, all the strength suddenly draining from his legs.

“Gods,” he muttered. He felt totally disoriented, and the way his head was swimming and his face was throbbing did not help. He reached up again to touch his bruised cheek. “What the hell happened? That hairy giant guy—”

“You and Sami passed out,” Kevin told him. “I put you both in the wagon and got us out of there before Sami’s spell could wear off.”

“Oh.” He had used his magic, he remembered that now. That explained why he felt like he had been trampled by a herd of horses and then run over by a train of wagons. He blinked. “But what happened to my face?”

“You woke up earlier, but I punched you and knocked you out again.”

Dean gaped at him. “You _what_? Why the fuck would you—” A sudden chill wormed its way down his spine. “Where’s Sami?”

Kevin considered him. In the firelight his eyes looked as black and hollow as caverns. His face was calm. “He’s in the wagon. He’s still unconscious.”

“Oh, hell.” Dean rubbed his temples. He felt like he might vomit, or faint again. Or both. “Is he all right?”

“He’s fine.” Kevin’s voice was ice. Dean looked at him again and realized Kevin wasn’t calm at all; he was seething. “You’d better hope he’s fine, Ambrose, because if he’s not I’m going to kill you. I told you not to use your magic, least of all _on us_. You know what happens when you use your magic.”

Dean scowled, angry himself all of a sudden. “Would you have preferred all three of us getting squashed by that giant? I had to do something. What _you_ were doing wasn’t working, and we didn’t have time.”

Kevin exploded. “I would have figured something out!” he snapped, his face twisted in absolute rage. He slammed his fist down into the ground and Dean tensed, half-expecting the earth to burst up around him or split open beneath him, but Kevin was either too exhausted to try and use someone else’s magic right now or he was restraining himself. “You could have _killed_ Sami, Ambrose!”

“You mean like you tried to?” Dean shot back.

Kevin was a large man, but he could move with stunning speed and agility when he wanted. In an instant he had grabbed Dean’s shirt and hauled him up so their faces were inches apart. Kevin’s color was high, his eyes blazing. His voice was deadly quiet. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ , Ambrose.”

He shoved Dean away and Dean went sprawling. The whole world seemed to be spinning. It was like a million tiny needles were piercing his skin. He retched, clutching at his stomach. Incredibly, he found himself laughing, unable to help it even though it only made him feel even worse. Kevin looked down at him in disgust. After a moment he shoved something under Dean’s nose. It was a water-pouch.

“Get yourself together, Ambrose,” Kevin said, and although there was nothing kind about his tone it was no longer quite so harsh. Dean supposed he made a rather pitiful sight.

Dean drank. He was terribly thirsty. It helped, a little.

“How long has it been?” he asked, when he had regained control of himself and he felt like he could safely speak.

Kevin shrugged. “Eight or nine hours, maybe.”

“Augmentation is what Seth called that power,” Dean informed him, almost conversationally. “I used it on him and Roman sometimes, when it seemed like we needed it. We usually didn’t. Once when I used it on Seth, it…I guess it must have been too much, because he lost consciousness. He was out for three days.” He had run a high fever that seemed like it would never break. Dean had been terrified, near-hysterical, and pretty much useless for those whole seventy-two hours. It was Roman—it was always Roman—who kept his head and took care of both Seth and Dean, until finally, finally, Seth woke up. “I was always really, really careful after that. But it’s been so long since I used my magic at all…” He trailed off. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to apologize or make excuses for himself.

Kevin just looked at him for a long time, expression unreadable. “Your magic is dangerous, Ambrose. Unstable. And you don’t really know how to control it. You did save us back there, and I’m glad. But don’t do that again. Save your power for when we find Seth. _Then_ , we all might need it. Now get something to eat and rest.” He turned on his heel and walked back to the wagon. Dean watched him go, face pinched and pale.

Dean rummaged through the pack Kevin had left by him, settling for some bread they’d picked up from the last village they had passed through. He took a bite and discovered he was ravenous.

_Save your power for when we find Seth._

_Seth_. He had dreamed about Seth. He dreamed about Seth often.

During those three days Seth had been unconscious and burning up from the inside, as if his own magic had turned against him, the possibility that Seth might die had hung over Dean like an executioner’s blade, making it impossible to sleep, to eat, to do anything but sit numbly and let his guilt eat at him like a fever of his own. The thought he might lose Seth, that he might be _responsible for Seth’s death_ , had been unthinkable, unbearable. He would die if Seth did. Not on the outside, maybe; he might still breathe, his heart might still beat, but everything in him would be gone.

When Seth had stabbed him and left him there to bleed, it had felt like death, although he hadn’t died. In some ways, he had been dead for the last two years.

What did he think he was doing, exactly?

He wished, not for the first time, that Roman was here. Roman had been a rock for the two of them, holding them steady, keeping them firmly on solid ground. He had brought order to the chaos of Dean’s head, helped him find some clarity in the murky, raging sea of his thoughts, especially after Seth had forsaken them both.

Dean lay down, pulling the thin blanket around him. He wanted to check on Sami, but Kevin was unlikely to allow him anywhere near Sami for a while. He closed his eyes and curled up in a childlike ball; after a time, he fell asleep.

***

_Seth opened his eyes, stirred by the wintry breeze that blew through his room. Darkness lay over him like a heavy cloak, cold and soft as fresh snow._

_A familiar presence enshrouded the room, seeming to deepen the darkness, to make it almost tangible._

_Seth sat up and turned his head. The fire in the hearth had died or been extinguished; Seth reignited it with an absent flick of his wrist. Lambent firelight shattered the night blackness in a capering half-circle. On the edge of the light, partially in shadow, the Demon crouched on the opposite side of his bed._

_Seth regarded it, frozen, wide-eyed. The black and white and red patterns of its skin were different, angular bone-white designs circling across its neck and the lower half of its face like fangs in an immense mouth, trails of red and black streaking down its chest and middle like streams of blood. Its pallid eyes measured Seth, rapt and glimmering. In its hands it held the white rose Seth had left on his pillow._

_It reached out. A cool rush of air ghosted across Seth’s face like a sigh. He could not move. He should not let it touch him, it could wake his sleeping dark powers and he could not let it do that again, never again, but he simply could not move. A kind of terrible fascination held him in place, held his gaze bound to those translucent colorless eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up straight and attentive, hard ridges of gooseflesh trailing down his bare arms. The cold seemed to be inside him as much as outside, seeping into his blood, his bones, his soul, slowing the beat of his heart and the rhythm of contraction and expansion of his lungs. It was a heady sensation, one he recognized, but this was not his own magic. It was as if the Demon itself was inside him now, its thick, indolent, alien energy soaking into his own fundamental life-force like spilled ink soaking into a carpet. It was not an awful feeling, but he was helpless against it, entirely overwhelmed by the power of this thing._

_The Demon’s fingers brushed gently through his hair, twirling the long curls and letting them fall. Its voice echoed in Seth’s head, then, a whisper like a breath of wind that hardly seemed to form words at all, although it spoke quite clearly._

Do not be afraid. You need not fear anything anymore.

 _It withdrew and descended from the bed in a smooth, serpentine motion. It left him there, the fire snuffed out once again as it passed the hearth and disappeared out the window, loping on all fours across the room like a wolf. It had left a black rose, set perfectly in the exact place where the white rose had lain on Seth’s pillow._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: (Don't Fear) The Reaper by Blue Oyster Cult is totally the Demon's theme song. If this took place in the modern world he'd probably play it every time he appeared to Seth, lol. 
> 
> Also...poor Dean. :(
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Everyone Can Die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys, sorry it's been so long! I'm in the groove of this story again so hopefully I'll go back to updating every two weeks or so. :3
> 
> A little reminder just to avoid confusion, cause it's not something that comes up often: Sami's horse is named Generico. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_“You live_ here _?”_

_Finn chuckled. “It’s a bit of a step down from an emperor’s palace, it’s true, but yes, I live here.”_

_“A bit of a step down” was a bit of an understatement. About half a day’s journey from the castle was a fishing village built beside the larger of the Twin Rivers, the East Twin. Finn had asked Seth to meet him on the outskirts of the village, and from there he had led Seth deep into the forest, following the river’s steady silent flow, until they reached a tiny cottage sitting quaint and welcoming in a circle of golden afternoon sunlight. The cottage was made of stone, with a sloping wooden roof. Ivy crawled in crisscrossing patterns over the walls. On one side was an impressive vegetable garden, on the other a flower garden dominated, Seth did not fail to notice, by black roses. There were two square windows, now shuttered, on either side of the door at the front of the cottage. Flowerboxes in which grew what Seth guessed were herbs hung from both windows._

_“The place was in ruins when I found it,” Finn told him. “The roof was gone, there was nothing left of the walls but piles of stone. Only the foundation was still intact. I decided to rebuild it, because why not? An exiled prince from a foreign land living in the forest, miles away from the nearest village—it’s like a fairytale, isn’t it? Although I suppose it’s usually the monsters in fairytales that live isolated out in the woods.” He laughed good-naturedly. “I figured, too, that the building would give me something to do, something to occupy my time while I tried to decide what to do next. It’s very boring, really, being on the run, just hiding. Eventually you feel like you need to settle down somewhere.”_

_“You rebuilt it all yourself?” Seth asked, in frank wonder._

_“Well, not_ all _by myself,” Finn conceded with the self-conscious smile Seth was already becoming familiar with. “I had a little help from the villagers from Bear Crossing. You know, the fishing village. I lived there for a little while, with this great old woman and her daughter and son-in-law. They took me in when I stumbled into the village some two years ago. They tried to convince me not to move out here, all alone and so far from anyone else, but I insisted. Living with people is very difficult when you have to hide who you are. Too many chances to slip. I still go there to get supplies every now and then. They all still treat me basically as if I’m just another villager. But I’m kind of rambling, aren’t I? Anyway, want to come inside?”_

_The cottage had a main room and one smaller room sectioned off, probably a privy. The floor was not dirt as Seth had expected but polished wood, mostly covered by a slightly threadbare carpet, brown with elegant green leaf designs. A small woodstove was situated in the center of the back wall, next to it a pile of wood. A little table and a chair stood in front of the stove. Cabinets lined the wall. In one corner were a water-barrel and a smaller barrel with a tap, obviously a container for alcohol. A bed was pushed into the opposite corner._

_To the left of the door were another little table and a chair, littered with woodchips. On the shelf above several small wooden carvings lined up like miniature soldiers. Most of them appeared to be of animals; Seth thought he saw a turtle, a dog, a bird. On the table a couple unfinished carvings sat in piles of woodchips by a carving knife._

_“It’s not much,” Finn said, sounding self-conscious again. “But it’s home.”_

_“It’s_ great _,” Seth enthused, and then blinked, cleared his throat, and amended in a more casual tone, “It’s very nice.”_

_Finn was opening the shutters, letting in the daylight. He regarded Seth with such warmth Seth had to look away, feeling, absurdly, a bit flustered._

_“Thank you,” Finn said._

_Seth picked up one of the finished carvings from the shelf, the one he thought was a turtle. “You made these?”_

_“Ah. Yes. I’m not very good, but I enjoy it.”_

_The carving was imperfect, it was true; the head was a bit weirdly cut, so the neck wasn’t symmetrical and it looked like the turtle had a stubby little horn growing out of the left side of its skull. The shell was uneven, nicks in the wood where Finn had cut too deep. Seth liked it, though. It was…kind of cute._

_“Would you like some water?” Finn asked, moving toward the cabinets. “Or tea? Or if you want something stronger, I have beer. I brew it myself.”_

_Seth glanced back, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh?”_

_Finn tossed an impish grin over his shoulder. “When one lives alone out in the wild, one must learn to provide oneself with the essentials.”_

_Seth snorted. “Water’s fine.” He placed the turtle back on the shelf and took a closer look at the unfinished figures on the table. One had a roundish head with small round ears and a short snout. “Is this one going to be a bear?”_

_“That’s the idea.” Finn retrieved two wooden cups from one of the cabinets and cracked open the water barrel._

_Seth picked up the half-finished bear. “Necromancers are arrested and executed in this kingdom, you know.”_

_“So I’ve heard.” There was amusement in his tone, but when he turned his expression was guarded. “I’ve heard the stories, about Kane and the Undertaker. The Brothers of Destruction, they called themselves, right? Morbidly appropriate.” He brought the cups over and offered one to Seth, which Seth accepted. Finn placed his own cup down and went to grab the other chair. “Is it true that Kane’s demon was exorcised?”_

_Seth nodded, taking a sip of water and studying the other carvings. He thought the dog was his favorite. Or maybe it was supposed to be a wolf. “I don’t know the story, but Kane is no longer possessed, and now he works for the King.” He lowered his voice. “How the mighty fall.”_

_Finn dragged the other chair over and dropped down into it. He looked thoughtful. “I’ve heard tales of exorcisms, but they always end with the possessed sorcerer—or witch, sometimes they’re witches—dying. Do you know anything about demonic possession?”_

_Seth shook his head._

_“It’s…intricate. People think of it like a parasite, but that’s not how it works. They become as much a part of your soul as your body. For some, they take complete control and the human’s consciousness, their original personality, is erased.”_

_“Not the way it happened with you, clearly.”_

_Finn shrugged, smiling a little. “Sometimes the human takes complete control instead.”_

_Seth regarded him, his expression inscrutable. “Do they?”_

_“I could tell you the whole story some time, if you wanted, although I hear you don’t find me terribly interesting.” His eyes sparkled with humor. Seth scoffed and turned away again._

_“Do you have a plan?” he asked presently, taking down the carving of the wolf or dog. “You want to kill the King. You can conceal yourself completely, steal through the castle totally unnoticed. The natural thing to do would be to simply cut the King’s throat as he sleeps. But you haven’t done that. So you must know that Hunter can’t be killed, not the way he is now.”_

_“Yes,” Finn said, slowly. “I was hoping you could tell me about that. I can sense the magic that protects him, but I haven’t been able to identify the spell.”_

_“It’s called an Aegis, a ward, an invisible shield, that protects him against all attacks. Blades, arrows, poisons. He cannot be harmed by another’s hand, in any way, shape, or form.”_

_Seth selected five of the finished wood carvings from the shelf. He placed the one that looked like an eagle in the center of the table. He arranged the others at four points around the eagle. “It’s an ancient spell that draws on the energies of four people of different power: a witch—” he touched a finger to the carving of a coiled snake, “a necromancer—” he touched the carving of another bird, probably a raven, “a person without magic—” he indicated the carving of a flower, “and an elemental.” He touched the carving of the turtle. “These energies come together and create an impenetrable ward around the one who casts the spell, in this case the King.” He picked up the eagle. “So long as the spell remains intact and each of the Catalysts, as they’re called, are still alive and under the King’s command, the King is invincible.”_

_Finn studied Seth’s little set-up, his expression thoughtful. “Who are the four Catalysts?”_

_“The witch, Randy Orton. The necromancer, Kane. Queen Stephanie, the one without magic. And the elemental sorcerer—”_

_“You?”_

_Seth smiled. It was humorless, wry. “I wanted the throne. I wanted the power of the King of Kings. We tried to kill him. The Shield. We damn near succeeded, or thought we did. But I came to realize we couldn’t. So I turned on my two best friends, my…I turned on them, and I joined him, because I knew the only way I’d be able to kill him is if I got close, close enough to learn the extent and source of his power. And I did learn. And I became part of the source of his power.” His grip on the wooden eagle tightened. His hand was trembling just slightly. Rage simmered under the surface of his words, old feeling, long suppressed and long building. “It’s funny, in a way. I planned to take his life, but I became part of what protects him from death. I suppose that’s what they call irony.”_

_“I suppose it is,” Finn said softly. He sat back. “So long as the spell remains intact…it can be broken.”_

_“Before me, the elemental sorcerer serving as one of the Catalysts was Batista, the former General of the King’s army. His magic was earth. We—The Shield—fought the King’s army twice. Twice we won. The second time we nearly killed the General.” They would have, if Randy Orton had not slithered in at the last moment and whisked his wounded comrade away._

_For Seth that last battle had been a blur of heat and smoke and ashes and the screams of men dying in agony. Back then—it felt like a lifetime, not just two years—his control and endurance had not been so strong, and using too much of his magic for too long had left him exhausted. When it was all over he’d passed out right there on the battlefield. He didn’t remember much, but two moments stood out with stark clarity: Dean standing over Batista’s prone body, covered in sweat and blood and grime, mouth twisted in a triumphant sneer, eyes black; and Roman, not a trace of filth on him, serene as if he had just been taking a leisurely stroll in the bright lovely afternoon, there to catch Seth as he collapsed. Cool air wrapping around him as Roman’s strong arms did, dampening the hellish heat still raging beneath his skin, and Roman murmuring in his ear,_ “Rest now, little brother. I got you. I got you.”

_Seth swallowed the lump threatening to rise in his throat and continued. “We decimated Hunter’s army. The next time we struck, we’d break through and invade the castle, and that would be the end. Batista knew it. He deserted. I don’t know the whole story, only what Randy told me.” And knowing Randy, maybe half of what he’d told Seth was the truth. Probably less. “According to Randy, Batista and Hunter had a big falling out. Batista did not want to put any more of his men at risk. Hunter asked him what he thought the alternative was, surrender to a trio of young mercenaries? A paramilitary unit of three whole people? Batista stormed out. He was never seen again. One of the Catalysts was gone.” He removed the wooden turtle from the table. “The Aegis was weakened. Randy told me he’d felt it, felt the magic waver. He described it like a crack in a mirror. I know he was right, because the night after Batista walked out, the King of Kings came to me, and I came very, very close to killing him.”_

_Finn stared at him, rapt._

_Seth had never spoken of that to anyone, not even Randy, and he discovered he did not have much desire to go into detail now. “The spell was weakened, but not for long, because then a new Catalyst took Batista’s place.” He put the turtle back on the shelf and replaced it on the carving of the dog._

_“And the crack was mended,” Finn guessed. “The removal of a Catalyst weakened the spell, but didn’t break it. If all the Catalysts were to be removed…?”_

_“I don’t think it was just Batista leaving. I think, the way the spell works, Hunter has to sever the link between the Catalyst and himself. I think that’s what he did the night Batista left, or maybe the night after, when he came to me.”_

_“Ah. Yes, that makes sense.” Finn picked up one of the wood carvings Seth was using to represent the Catalysts—the flower. That one was quite good, Seth thought. It looked like a lily. “So you think the only way the spell would break is if the King severed his link with all the Catalysts?”_

_Seth offered that wry smile again. “Or, the Catalysts could die.”_

_Finn regarded him. “Ah. Yes, I suppose that would do it.” He placed the flower back on the table, and arranged the snake and raven on either side of it. “You haven’t killed the other Catalysts. Should I assume that means you don’t think it’d be enough?”_

He really does think I’m a heartless traitor, _Seth thought with a touch of sour amusement._ _Well, he_ had _nearly killed two men he’d considered friends, one as close to him as a brother, the other…Seth shook his head. “I could kill Stephanie. It wouldn’t be that difficult. I could kill Randy, too. That probably wouldn’t even be too difficult. I could even kill Kane. But no, I don’t think it would be enough. The Aegis would be cracked, but not shattered, not unless he cut his link with me, and he’s too smart for that. Too smart and too vindictive.” He put the wooden eagle down, not liking the way his hands still trembled. Hate, anger, helplessness, noxious gases mingling in his stomach, making him feel sick. Hunter would never let him go._

_Finn frowned at the carvings. “But perhaps the Aegis doesn’t have to break, exactly, just be weakened enough so it can be broken through? A glass—or a shield—cracked enough will shatter easily when struck.”_

_Seth shrugged. “It might be possible. But it’s not certain, and you don’t want to try and take the King’s life if you’re not certain. You know of his magic, don’t you?”_

_“Doesn’t everyone? He calls it Master of Puppets, doesn’t he?” Finn’s gaze seemed to have turned inward, his blue eyes darkening, the warm colors of a clear summer sky turning to the stormy hues of the ocean’s surface. “I can see how he’s managed to hold onto his power for so long.”_

_“So you can see what you’ve gotten yourself into.”_

_Finn looked at him. “You’re still determined to kill him, aren’t you?”_

_Seth was a moment in responding. “I want him dead,” he said, flatly._

_Finn nodded, raising his cup to his lips. “Everyone can die, even the King of Kings.” He offered Seth a dazzling smile._

***

“How are you feeling?”

Sami beamed. “Great!” He flexed both arms, dropping the horse’s reigns into his lap. “I feel strong enough to take on _ten_ Braun Strowmans!” He punched at the air, and at that same moment the wagon hit a bump in the road and bounced, nearly throwing him off the seat and right into Generico’s backside. He let out a rather undignified squeak and just managed to hold on, snatching back the reigns before they fell.

Dean smiled faintly. He still looked pale and exhausted. His right cheek was swollen and purple. Kevin had one hell of a punch.

“How are _you_ feeling?” Sami asked, worry creeping into his tone.

Dean shrugged. “I’m fine. My face hurts.” He scowled and touched the bruise.

Sami laughed, a tad awkwardly. “I got him to apologize. Sort of.” It had taken quite a bit of scolding, but finally Kevin had expressed some vague words of contrition to Dean, who had responded with stony silence. The coldness between them had been enough to make Sami shiver.

Dean shrugged again. After a moment, he said, almost too softly for Sami to hear, “I’m glad you’re all right.”

Sami smiled at him, warmly. It took a couple beats, but Dean’s lips curved upwards just slightly.

For hours after he had awoken—Kevin had informed him he’d been out for nearly a full day—Sami had been weak and feverish and totally disoriented. He had not failed to notice, however, the tension between Kevin and Dean and the bruise on Dean’s face. He had been furious. It was somewhat disquieting that Dean had used his magic on him, but as far as Sami was concerned, what mattered was that Dean had most likely saved their lives, and he had made that clear to both of them. It had not made Dean look any less dejected or Kevin any less angry, and they were still refusing to talk to each other, but Sami supposed they could focus on that issue later.

They were nearing the border between the World Kingdom and the Kingdom of Honor. The forest around them was growing thicker, the road rougher. Kevin was now safely hidden inside the wagon. It had been a very long time since he had been to the Kingdom of Honor, even longer since he had taken these less travelled roads—mostly used by bandits and mercenaries—but he guessed in a few short hours they would be crossing into foreign land.

“So what did Kevin do, anyway?” Dean asked presently, glancing back at the wagon, as if he expected Kevin to pop his head out and snap at him to shut up. “What’s got him worried enough to hide?”

Sami shifted, considering how to reply. “Truth is, Kev isn’t worried much about the king. It’s been years since he was in the Kingdom, and the crown has changed hands many a time since then. However, we do have to be cautious, because the Honorable Monarchy has a tendency to want to have a perfect record when it comes to catching wanted men. Did you know that’s what they call themselves, the Honorable Monarchy? It’s because according to legend the kingdom’s first king was a man who never wavered from his morals and traditional values, even choosing to remain neutral when the War of Kingdoms broke out between the World Kingdom, the Kingdom of the New Sun, and the Impact Kingdom. I think the Impact Kingdom was called something else then, I can’t remember. Anyway, so whoever currently rules might be quite eager for Kevin’s head, because Kevin is one of the few men who escaped justice. The Kingdom of Honor is not a place where criminals run rampant. So of course we have to be cautious. _But_ , we’re more worried about running across Corino or any of his former men.”

“Corino?”

Sami paused. “So…there was this man Kevin met when he was young. His name was Steve Corino. They formed a group calling themselves S.C.U.M. Suffering, Chaos, Ugliness, and Mayhem.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Creative.”

Sami laughed, but his expression sobered quickly as he continued. “The ultimate goal of this group was to overthrow the Honorable Monarchy. They didn’t want to take over, though. They just wanted anarchy. To turn the Kingdom of Honor into a land of blood and chaos.”

“They sound fun.”

“Oh, very much so. From what Kevin tells me, the desire to kill the king and topple the monarchy was Corino’s. Kevin had always had a penchant for violence, and, an orphan living in poverty who’d had to fight his entire life just to survive, he was already full of hate and rage. Corino came along and gave him something to direct it at. They…caused a lot of damage. They killed people, destroyed homes, destroyed royal property. They never managed to kill the king or disrupt the governance of the kingdom in any significant way, but a lot of people suffered. They targeted the wealthy, the king’s soldiers, even his personal servants, anyone and everyone they could reach who had some connection with the monarchy or who they saw as part of the system that maintained order.”

He paused again. “But…I think Corino never really understood Kevin. Kev isn’t a beast. He’s a calculating man and a refined killer. And he puts his own self-interest first, always. He’d be happy to watch the world burn, but only if he benefits in the end. The moment he started to feel like Corino’s vision might not really be in his own best interest, or worse, that following Corino might put him in real danger, he was going to turn on Corino. It was inevitable, and I don’t think Corino ever realized that.”

“So what happened?”

Sami lowered his voice dramatically. “Matt Hardy happened.”

Dean appeared surprised. “Matt Hardy? As in, _Broken_ Matt Hardy, the necromancer?”

“He wasn’t Broken back then. His magic and his studies had not driven him mad yet. Apparently, Corino became enamored with Hardy. Worshipped him, almost. Kevin was appalled. Matt Hardy isn’t just a necromancer. He studied demonology, and not out of idle curiosity. There are some who think he managed to summon a demon, that it possessed him and that’s what Broke him. I don’t know if that’s true, but Kevin told me Corino wanted to summon a demon, and that was why he aligned himself with Hardy. He declared Hardy their new leader. Kevin _despised_ Hardy, and he was repulsed by the idea of summoning a demon. Most sane people are.” Sami made a face. He thought of Finn, then, and felt a pang of sadness in his chest. _I hope he’ll be okay, when all is said and done. I can’t imagine what it must be like, trapped…_

He shook his head, shaking those thoughts away. “You can probably guess what happened next. Kevin left them. Dumped Corino and S.C.U.M like a bad habit. Corino was not pleased. They came after him, tried to kill him. Needless to say, they didn’t succeed. Kevin became something of a hero to the people, gaining fame as the man who thwarted all of S.C.U.M’s activities and eventually put an end to them, and to Corino.”

Dean hummed. “But of course they still want his head.”

“Of course. And…Corino’s still around, as far as we know. We’ve never heard anything of him being captured or killed. I doubt he’ll have forgiven Kev. Too much bad blood. He’ll want Kev’s head, too.”

Dean nodded. “What kind of magic does this Corino guy have?”

“He’s a witch.”

Dean’s face scrunched up in distaste. “Ugh. I hate dealing with witches, even more than necromancers. At least with a necromancer you know what to expect.”

Sami inclined his head in agreement. He had been caught once trying to steal from a coven; it was not an experience he ever wanted to repeat. “There’s…someone else we might have to worry about, too. Another one of Corino’s former comrades. Jimmy Jacobs.”

“Jimmy—?” Realization struck and his eyes widened in shock. “Jimmy _Jacobs_? The necromancer who taught Seth?”

“The very same. We heard he left the Kingdom of Honor, but that was years ago. I have no idea where he might be now, if he’s even still alive. There’s a possibility he might have returned to his home country. If he is around, he’ll sense Kevin’s presence, and nothing we can do will be able to hide him. Kevin didn’t seem too concerned about Jacobs, but I personally don’t think it’s smart to take any necromancer lightly, especially one that might be holding a grudge. So…just be prepared, all right? We have no idea what we’re walking into.”

Dean said nothing. He patted Ambra’s neck. His face was set and grim, and Sami wondered what he was thinking about. The eleven million gold waiting for him at the end of all this, maybe. Or maybe he was just thinking about Seth, Seth with his warm brown eyes and cocksure grin, Seth who had almost killed him. He probably hadn’t been thinking about much else. Sami hadn’t.

Sami took a deep breath, sat up straighter, and tightened his grip on the reigns.    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The debut of Finn's cottage! Lol. And his little wooden figures. Hey, no legos in this world. A bummer, I know.
> 
> And yes, the tags have changed again, haha.


	10. Hang 'em High

_He was picking green beans, using a small knife to cut the pods off the stalks, humming an old half-remembered song from his homeland, when he sensed Seth coming. Seth’s energies flickered like the glow of a distant fire on the edges of his awareness, a tingling warmth that spread across his skin, wrapping him in a cocoon of heat as the Prince neared._

_Blackness danced on the fringes of that light and warmth, like the shadows that lingered just outside the circle of a fire’s glow. Eclipsed by the potency of the Prince’s white magic, its converse slept uneasily. Finn wondered if anyone else had ever been able to sense it. The King of Kings surely had not; considering the King’s antipathy to necromancers, if he had ever had the slightest indication his chosen heir possessed a talent for such power, Seth Rollins would not have stayed his chosen heir for long._

_Finn smiled to himself. There was a little fluttering in his chest at the thought of seeing Seth, and he was suffused with a feeling of warmth that had nothing to do with magic._

_It was an odd sort of thing, being in love with a stranger._

_He had found it unsettling, at first, the way the Prince had captivated him, how all his careful observations of the King of Kings had started to be overshadowed by the beautiful young man who stood at the King’s side. He had planned to kill the Crown Prince as well as the King and the Queen; what he wanted, after all, was the throne._

_After a time, though, he had come to see that the Prince was unhappy. Hatred and resentment lurked beneath the cool, confident mask the Prince wore like the shapes of monsters glimpsed just beneath the surface of benign waters. Finn had learned much of Seth Rollins from the stories and rumors that went around among the people of the kingdom, and it had not been too difficult to figure out why Seth would have been willing to kill two men he called brothers and align himself with the monarch the three of them had waged war against for several bloody months._

_It had occurred to him that perhaps this was serendipitous, the fact that both he and Seth had ended up here._

_There was an old love song his parents used to sing together when he was small—how did it go?_

_Maybe an hour later, he heard Seth’s footsteps. Finn turned and stood up, tossing beans into the basket at his feet._

_“Hey,” Seth said. He had tied his hair back with a black ribbon, though errant curls tumbled over his ears and brow. His garb was simple but clearly expensive, brown breeches and a light green tunic and coat. The earthy tones brought out the warm brown of his eyes. He was breathtaking._

_“Hey,” Finn said back, and offered a bright smile._

_“You look like you’ve been busy.” He gestured to the baskets Finn had lined up by the cottage—tomatoes, cucumbers, squash, eggplants, raspberries. The berry bushes grew behind the cottage. Only the raspberries were still producing; the blackberries were done for the year._

_“I have,” Finn agreed, wiping his brow with his sleeve for emphasis._

_“Well, you might like some of this, then.” Seth had a two waterskins strapped to his waist; he untied one and tossed it at Finn, who caught it with a little surprised exclamation. He gave Seth a questioning look._

_Seth placed his hands on his hips and smirked. “Some of Hunter’s favorite mead, exclusive to the royal family. You said you wanted to try it.”_

_“Oh!” Finn couldn’t quite hide his excitement, and Seth’s smirk turned into a brief grin._

_Seth had tried some of Finn’s beer a couple days ago and declared it absolutely disgusting. Finn’s response had been to point out that Seth was probably so accustomed to the rich beers and wines available to royalty that all other alcoholic drinks were ruined for him, and then had mentioned, wistfully, that he had always wanted to try whatever drink it was they made so often in the castle, because it smelled heavenly. Seth had asked him why he didn’t just take some, and Finn, affronted, had insisted that he wasn’t a_ thief. 

_“Well, thank you, that’s very thoughtful,” Finn said, in a more composed tone. He uncapped the skin and took a sip. The wine was sweet and tasted of apple. He hummed, impressed._

_“I think that stuff is awful, personally,” Seth remarked casually, and Finn, in the middle of a second, more enthusiastic swig, nearly choked._

_“Is there_ anything _you like?” he asked, incredulous._

_Seth shrugged. “Water’s all right.” He waved a hand across the garden. “You want some help?”_

_Finn shook his head. “I’ve gotten just about everything that’s ready to be harvested already.” His eyes twinkled. “Besides, I cannot imagine the Crown Prince of the World Kingdom would ever deign to partake in such menial labor.”_

_Seth scoffed. “Apparently the former Emperor of the Kingdom of the New Sun has no qualms about partaking in such ‘menial labor.’” He walked over to the baskets, inspecting their contents with a critical eye._

_“Prince,” Finn corrected airily, setting down the skin and returning to picking beans, “I called myself a Prince, not an Emperor, although I suppose an Emperor I was. And, well, I am a ruler in exile, living alone in the wilderness, so. Special circumstances.” He saw Seth looking interestedly at the raspberries and grinned. “You can have some, if you want. They’re delicious.”_

_Seth sat down, leaning against the side of the cottage. He scooped up a small handful of berries. “Why did you call yourself Prince, instead of Emperor or even King?”_

_“I suppose I should say it was humility,” Finn said, with a touch of amusement. “That I never wanted such a lofty title as Emperor, so I chose something a little less imposing. But really, it was a joke.”_

_Seth’s eyebrows lifted. “A joke?”_

_“I was quite young when I took the throne. In my early twenties. I looked even younger, or so I was told. People said I didn’t look like an Emperor. I didn’t look old enough, distinguished enough, for such a title. So, as a joke, I called myself Prince Devitt instead. It stuck, and that’s what I became known as. I began to like it. It felt right.” He took another drink from the skin and uttered a sigh of pure pleasure. “I could drink this all day, every day,” he announced solemnly._

_“I wouldn’t recommend that.”_

_Finn laughed. He glanced up again and caught a glimpse of Seth sitting in the sunlight, picking through the basket of berries with the careful reverence of a man inspecting gemstones. He had tugged the ribbon out of his hair, and the sun’s rays weaved golden threads in the cascade of long curls, turning it the color of chestnuts. There was a trace of red stain on his lips. They would taste like raspberries now._

_Finn shut down that train of thought before it could go any further. He refocused on picking beans, trying to distract himself._

_“You know,” he said presently, “it wasn’t easy for me, when I first ascended the throne. You’ve been to New Sun, yes? So you know the majority of the Kingdom’s population is made up of the people indigenous to the country, who have their own distinct language and ethnic identity.”_

_Seth nodded, and Finn continued, “Clearly, I do not belong to that ethnicity, and back then I was still learning the language. I was barely a man, I was an usurper, and worst of all, I was a foreigner. The people hated me. There were assassination attempts, more than I could count, and it seemed every time I turned my back a new coup was forming. Even those around me, those I chose to be my advisers and confidantes, resented and tried to manipulate me, believing they could taken advantage of my youth and inexperience. I was isolated and surrounded by hostility. There was a disconnect between me and the people, a rift I had no idea how to breach, and though I always believed in my own strength, it seemed there were enemies around every corner. It was…exhausting, having to constantly look over my shoulder, not being able to trust anyone around me.”_

_Seth scoffed. Finn glanced up again. Seth’s expression was guarded, and when their eyes met he shifted his gaze quickly away. Finn wanted to ask, but decided it would probably be better not to pry._

_“I admit that’s how I liked it,” he continued. “I took the throne fully intent on absolute rule. I made no secret of who I was, what I was. I wanted to be feared. The Demon Prince, they called me, and I liked that quite a bit. So did my demon.”_

_Seth studied him, his expression still guarded, betraying nothing. “AJ mentioned that you did terrible things as Emperor—excuse me, Prince—but he never said what things.”_

_“I did terrible things, yes.” Flashes of sunlight leaped off his blade with each downward arc as he cut the ripe beans off their stems. For an instant he saw sunlight dancing off the polished steel of other, larger blades, drawn by men and women right before their hearts were ripped out. “Many died during my reign, and not all of them deserved it. “All men who rule leave rivers of blood in their wake. Some run deeper than others.”_

_“Poetic,” Seth remarked, sarcastically. Finn had to laugh._

_“The King of Kings seems to fancy himself something of an Enlightened Despot,” Finn mused. “From what I’ve gathered, when he ascended the throne he dismantled the entire administration and rebuilt it from the ground up, emancipating the peasants, establishing full equality under the law, stripping the nobles of almost all their power though he allowed them to keep their titles and prestige. All power now lies with the King.” He paused and looked up as a crow flew overhead, its harsh cry ringing in the air._

_“People speak of him with fear. But they also speak of him with reverence. It’s hard to tell if the people love him or are simply afraid of him. I get the impression it’s a little of both.”_

_Seth shrugged. “I suppose it is. People fear his power, but he’s admired as the hero who saved this Kingdom from falling completely under the sway of the dead. Hunter did, after all, take down The Undertaker, and rid this Kingdom completely of necromancy.”_

_“Well,” Finn said, regarding Seth, eyes sparkling, “not completely.”_

_Seth pursed his lips and said nothing. Finn had broached the subject of his hidden black magic before, and the Prince clammed up every time, insisting simply that he did not use that magic and he never would again._

_Finn had not noticed the duality of Seth’s magic until the night the Demon had saved him from the assassin with the poisoned needle. The sheer untapped strength of that power had taken him aback. It was unheard of for a person to be born with the capacity for both black and white magic, to be able to manipulate, absorb, and utilize the natural energies of both the living and the dead. The power that granted a sorcerer was…godlike, almost, if cultivated and used to its full potential. He had wondered initially if Seth simply did not know he had black magic, and then Seth had told him that yes, he knew, but he chose to keep it trapped and hidden away deep within himself. He would not say why, although Finn sensed that fear of the King’s wrath was not the reason._

_Tactfully changing the subject, he said, “I hear AJ Styles has become popular among the people of New Sun in the two years he’s ruled.”_

_“Demonslayer, they call him. He’s hailed as a hero much like Hunter is, for having defeated and ‘killed’ you.” He added sarcastic emphasis to “killed,” and Finn couldn’t help but grin._

_Finn chuckled. “‘Demonslayer.’ It’s catchy.”_

_Seth rolled his eyes. “If you were a cruel monarch, AJ’s quite the opposite. He’s well known for his kindness toward his people. Part of his magic is healing, did you know that?”_

_Finn shook his head. AJ called his magic Lightbringer, the name he’d also given to the angel sword, the Divine Weapon that had been Finn’s downfall. “Light” was probably the closest one could come to defining AJ’s magic—AJ could harness the energies of all living things within miles of himself and use them in their pure, unadulterated, and most potent form, manifesting in a golden glow that shrouded him like a veil of captured sunlight. It was not power that could be used to topple buildings or manipulate natural things such as water or earth, but it could be used to overwhelm and devastate another’s soul. Especially, as Finn had discovered, that of a demon._

_“He isn’t just able to heal wounds; he can cure sicknesses, too. If people have been hurt or are ill and doctors cannot help them, their loved ones can appeal to the Emperor, and AJ never denies them or asks for anything in return. He’s also initiated massive reconstruction and expansion projects, he told me, rebuilding everything you destroyed. He calls the Kingdom of the New Sun ‘The House That AJ Styles Built.’ Exactly how he put it, too.”_

_Finn laughed again. That sounded like something AJ would say, farmboy simplicity mixed with a monarch’s lofty conceit. “Do you know AJ well?” he asked, trying not to sound quite as interested in this as he actually was. All the time he had spent watching the castle, he had heard much of the gossip that went around among the staff, and the relationship between the Crown Prince and the Emperor of New Sun was a subject of many salacious rumors. “The World Kingdom and New Sun have a trade agreement now, I hear, and the King and the Emperor have forged a very friendly working relationship.”_

_“They have. Hunter and AJ get along well. Hunter would never say it, but he has a tremendous amount of respect for AJ as someone who defeated a demon. I imagine that pretty sword AJ has gives Hunter pause, too, though he’d certainly never admit_ that _.” He snorted. “I know AJ well enough, I suppose. We’re friends. I’m usually the one Hunter sends to New Sun to meet with him.”_

_Finn started to speak, and then stopped, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks. He ducked his head, hoping Seth didn’t notice, but evidently Seth did, because Seth sounded faintly amused._

_“You’ve heard I’ve been sleeping with him, I take it?”_

_Finn offered an awkward and embarrassed smile. Seth huffed out a short laugh._

_“I have slept with him, as a matter of fact. And somehow everyone seems to know about it. I think Randy’s spread the word around. Jealous, probably. Hunter’s aware.” His expression darkened. “He’s considered proposing a marriage between us, actually.”_

_Finn bristled. “Oh?” He struggled to keep his tone casual._

_“It’s not going to happen,” Seth said, shortly. “Hunter can consider it all he wants, I am not going to be traded off as a political pawn.”_

_Finn let out a low breath, feeling—absurdly, maybe—a wave of relief. “Good.” Seth shot him a sharp look. Finn beamed at him, and after a moment Seth’s gaze softened and he looked away again, shifting slightly._

_Finn picked up the basket of beans and walked over to where Seth sat by the other baskets. “Want to help me put these away?” he asked._

_“Sure,” Seth said, standing up. He picked up the basket of berries first. He eyed them for a beat before asking, with a hint of tentativeness quite uncharacteristic for him, “Can I take some of these?”_

_“Of course.”_

_Seth smiled, soft and perfectly genuine, and once again Finn was struck by his beauty. Finn smiled back, that familiar little fluttering sensation in his chest. “Come on,” he said. “Maybe you’ll stay for dinner tonight?”_

***

“I think we should stop,” Dean said, stifling a yawn. “I don’t think I can keep going much longer.”

“Soon,” Roman assured. “I want to cover a little more distance. After that stunt you pulled with that imperial soldier, the further away we are from the city the better.”

“‘ _Stunt_ ’ I pulled?” Dean huffed, indignant. “All I did was make his tankard tip over on his lap. He didn’t even know it was me, he was just pissed that I laughed at him. What’s he doing drinking on duty, anyway?”

“It was childish,” Roman said, giving Dean a hard look, his eyes turned from their usual dark brown to an icy blue-gray. “And unnecessary. Getting into fights with imperial soldiers is exactly what we _don’t_ need right now.”

“Now, now,” Seth interjected in a conciliatory tone, “no harm was done. Everyone escaped with their lives and limbs intact.” He bumped Dean’s shoulder playfully. “But Ro’s right. Next time resist the temptation, leave the imperial puppets alone.”

Dean made a face. Seth laughed, muffling the sound with his hand, and despite himself Dean felt his lips quirk into a little smile. Seth hooked his arm through Dean’s, and his warmth wrapped around Dean like an old, well-known blanket. Seth was always very warm, alive with the lambent heat of his magic.

 _Something’s not right here_.

Dean frowned. The thought seemed to come from nowhere, from outside, although it was his own voice. What wasn’t right here? Everything seemed just right. He was walking down the road with Roman and Seth. They were just leaving some town, he couldn’t remember the name. He had used his magic to mess with an imperial soldier who had happened to stop in the same tavern the three of them had stopped in, he had laughed at the man and the man, already very drunk, had threatened to arrest Dean and have his tongue cut out for mocking an officer in the King’s army. Roman and Seth had dragged Dean out of the tavern before things could get out of hand. They had immediately left town, Roman complaining that he had actually been looking forward to a real bed tonight and of course Dean had gone and ruined it for him. Roman was still upset, a bubble of frosty air around him, his expression stony. Seth was his polar opposite, glowing like an ember, emanating the welcoming heat of a home’s hearth.   

_They’re not here._

Dean’s frown deepened. What? That was ridiculous, of course they were, they were right here beside him, like they always were, like they always would be.

Gods, but he was tired. Evening was drawing on, the last of the light slipping fast behind the canopy of the trees. Ground-mist had seemed to appear from nowhere, growing thicker as they walked, until it was like they were walking on an earthbound cloud.

_Walking? You were on a horse._

Horse? Dean shook his head, hopelessly confused. He hadn’t thought he had drunk all that much at the tavern, but maybe whatever he’d had had been a little stronger than what he was accustomed to.

He rubbed his eyes. It was getting difficult to keep them open. His legs were tired, his thoughts were starting to become muddled and wandering, and all he wanted was to lie down somewhere. “Guys, really, I’m about to drop, can we—”

_They’re not here._

He stopped mid-sentence. He shook his head, trying to will away that odd, senseless voice. The fog was rising, spreading with gentle, furtive speed across the world. The trees became vague silhouettes looming all around them, and he could no longer see the road at all.

“Something isn’t right here.” It was Roman who spoke, but it didn’t really sound like his voice, the pitch too high.

A chill passed through Dean, tiny shards of ice pricking at his spine.

Seth had pressed closer, his hip brushing against Dean’s. They walked in step, arms entwined, but why were they walking so slowly? Dean hadn’t noticed before, but it seemed like they weren’t really walking at all, simply standing still while the black shapes of trees marched languidly by.

“Dean,” Seth said, softly, and Dean thought, _You’re not here._

“Oh no,” Roman said plaintively in that voice that didn’t sound like his.

Dean tried to look at him, but suddenly Seth was standing in front of him, hands on either side of his face, and he could see nothing but Seth’s beautiful eyes, the color of life-giving earth, shining with love and a tenderness that made Dean ache. Seth’s skin was hot against his own, a spreading flame that swallowed Dean whole.

“Dean,” Seth whispered.

_Clap._

The sound rent the air, and Dean’s eyes ripped open.

He was on the ground, Sami kneeling beside him. Dean scrambled up into a sitting position, eyes wide and wild. Sami was looking at him, expression grim and set, hands together. Seth and Roman weren’t there.

Dean’s head was spinning. “Sami? Sami? Wha—”

“We walked right into a spell,” Sami said. “A trap. Look up, at the trees.”

They seemed to be on a back-road, somewhere in the middle of the forest. Hanged men swayed from the branches of the tall pines all around them. They stared with bulging eyes down on Dean and Sami, their faces twisted in unspeakable horror. Some were bloated and black, white bone peaking through where flesh had fallen away. Some were barely recognizable as men, hunks of rotting meat strung up like pig carcasses. There was a line of them on either side of the road, marching down as far as the eye could see. The stench of death was unbearable.

Dean’s stomach heaved and he doubled over, palms scraping the cold hard ground in an attempt to keep him from falling on his face as he ejected his stomach’s entire contents into the dirt. Sami’s hands gripped his shoulders as he retched and his body was racked with spasms. When they finally subsided, he was just able to croak out, “We were…under a spell?”

“Yes, a dream-spell. Do you remember us turning onto the main road? I know we did, when we crossed the border. We must have been diverted onto the back-roads again and never even realized it. Gods.”

A dream-spell. He had been dreaming. _They_ had been dreaming, dreaming awake. He remembered now, yes, they had crossed the border into the Kingdom of Honor while still following the back-roads, but by the next afternoon they had gotten onto the main road, and they’d soon lost themselves in the busy traffic of travelers on horseback and on foot, merchant wagons, and personal carriages. He remembered the noise, the familiar cacophony of society, Sami hailing everyone, it seemed, himself pulling up the hood of his cloak, making himself as inconspicuous as possible, thinking with some amusement about Kevin hiding in the back of the wagon—but there his memory went blank. It was as if he had fallen asleep there in that busy street and woken to find himself here, in the middle of the forest, surrounded by hanging corpses in various stages of decay.

And Roman and Seth—

_A dream._

“The horses and the wagon are gone,” Sami said quietly.

For a moment the implications of this did not hit Dean, and then, suddenly—“Kevin,” he gasped, jerking upright. He looked around, but as Sami had said, Ambra, Generico, and the wagon were nowhere to be seen. Neither was Kevin Owens.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned. Sami’s hands tightened on his shoulders.

“It’s Hangman Page,” Sami said, “and Cody Rhodes. I heard they were working together, but the word on the streets was that Hangman had been taken down by the new King. I guess not.”

“Cody?” Dean swallowed thickly, wincing at the taste of bile in his mouth. “I thought he lost his mind and was ranting about the stars or something on some mountain somewhere. And who the hell is Hangman Page?”

“Not anymore.” Sami was remarkably calm. His eyes scanned their surroundings ceaselessly, searching. “Adam Page is a necromancer, and a murderer. They call him ‘Hangman’ because—well, I think you can guess.”

A necromancer. Dean’s blood turned to ice. _Oh, fuck._

A giggle drew the attention of both of them. Standing on the dirt road they were on, several yards away, was a young woman. She was dark-skinned and slender, long, silky raven hair cascading over one shoulder, wearing a tunic of fine silk and boots of polished leather. She regarded them with dark, almond-shaped eyes, her smile sweet and innocent.

“Hello, boys,” she said. “Would you like to stay and play for a while?”

That was when the corpses started screaming.

They screamed, and screamed, and screamed, voices rising shrill and terrified into a hellish din that seemed to fill the whole world, swallowing any coherent thought and driving both Dean and Sami to the ground, hands clamped desperately and uselessly over their ears. Sami was screaming, too, Dean thought. Or maybe that was him. Impossible to tell.

The corpses jerked and thrashed at the end of each noose, limbs flailing, bits of rotted flesh falling to the forest floor. Their eyes had come horribly alive, glittering with demonic hate, fixed on Dean and Sami with awful, monomaniacal intent. Their hands reached toward the two living men, fingers snapping. The screaming rose and rose and rose, until Dean thought he would go mad if it did not stop.

The dark-skinned woman giggled again, her saccharine voice cutting through the din with the fine-edged precision of a knife.

Dean forced himself onto his knees. Pain laced through him, the screams of the dead men piercing him like a million tiny needles. With tremendous effort he lowered his arms, releasing the daggers hidden up his sleeves with weak flicks of his wrist. The cold steel on his skin helped focus him, familiar, dependable, insensate steel, the one ally he had always had. Sami was still on the ground, face-down and senseless. Dean crawled over him, covering the other man’s body with his own, crouching over him like a lioness over her cub.

 _Don’t use your magic_ , Kevin had said.

Dean gritted his teeth and tossed his daggers at the woman. They cut through the air with such speed they became only black blurs, and it was several seconds before the woman even noticed they had buried themselves in each of her shoulders.

She howled, stumbling to her knees. A dark stain spread across her fine silk tunic. She tried to reach up to the daggers sticking out of her flesh and screamed again in agony and rage, her hands falling limply into her lap. Her hair tumbled in a dark veil over her beautiful face, twisted into something monstrous.

The daggers thrummed with Dean’s energy, weaving around it in tendrils of pulsing darkness, and Dean could taste the woman’s blood in the back of his throat. He held out a hand toward her, mirrored tendrils of energy coiling around his arm and reaching toward those around the daggers. The woman screamed again, in pure, mindless agony this time. She fell onto her back, twisting and shrieking like the corpses, her living voice and their dead imitations a horrible dissonance. Dean trembled, the magic ripping mercilessly through him, a thing of its own, taking as much from him as from her, but it was _his_ and somehow, someway, with the thought of Sami lying helpless beneath him and Kevin somewhere out there alone, he managed to command it.

The screaming stopped, as suddenly as it had begun, and in the blink of an eye the entire world was submerged in a blanket of thick fog. Dean, no longer able to see the woman, lost focus and the spell broke, _shattered_ , and he collapsed over Sami. Panting, his head pounding, he pulled himself back up onto his hands and knees. Sami stirred, and Dean got off of him, dropping heavily onto the ground.

“Dean?” Sami said, turning onto his side and squinting up at Dean. His voice sounded muted and distant even though he was inches away from Dean, echoing strangely over the trees. He looked dazed, half-asleep. The corpses had gone still, vague shapes swaying in the mist.

Dean put a hand on his shoulder, as much to reassure him as to ground himself. He felt tired and cold. His body ached all over. The pain was worst in his head, a steady throbbing, keeping time with his pulse. “Are you…okay?” It was hard to breathe, harder to speak. His own voice sounded as distant as Sami’s, detached, as if the words came from someone else.

“What happened?” Sami asked. “Dean—your nose is bleeding.”

Dean reached up and discovered a warm wetness on his upper lip. He tasted blood.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “We have to…” He trailed off, his voice fading into the mist. The mist seemed to be getting thicker, obscuring his vision, swallowing the world, swallowing _them_. It was difficult to make out Sami there next to him. The denser it grew, the more exhausted he felt, as if it was draining all the energy from him. It was hard to keep his eyes open. He thought of sleep, and the thought was good, comforting. He would like to sleep. The pain would go away if he slept. Nothing would matter if he slept.

 _This is the dream-spell_ , he thought, as he and Sami both fell to the ground, very slowly, it seemed like. It seemed to take hours before his shoulder hit the forest floor. It felt very soft. Like a comfy bed. He could just lie here, let himself drift. Gods, he was so tired.

The sound of footsteps echoed around them. Shapes approached from out of the mist, materializing into men. One of the men had a noose hanging from around his neck, like an enormous necklace. It was difficult to make out their faces, but Dean recognized the other man, although the last time Dean had seen him he had been painted up and screaming incoherently into the sky about the alignment of the stars. It was Cody Rhodes.

“I told you we should have just killed them,” the man with the noose around his neck said gruffly. “But you just have to play your games. Look what that asshole did to Brandi. What the hell kind of magic _is_ that, anyway?”

“That’s a good question.” Cody’s voice was calm, but there was a still fury in the set of his features. His eyes were only shadows. “That’s Dean Ambrose, former member of The Shield. What magic he possesses has always been a mystery.”

The other man started. “ _The Shield?_ Codes, you didn’t tell me one of these assholes was a Shield dog!” If Dean hadn’t been so out of it, he might have found the fear in the man’s voice amusing. As it was, he felt only the slightest pang in his chest at the mention of The Shield.

“Relax, he was always the weakest of the three. The mongrel of the pack. Besides, you’re not really _afraid_ of the ‘Hounds of Justice,’ are you, Adam?”

Adam scoffed. “You did hear about Rollins, didn’t you? And the demon he apparently has under his control now? Hell, it’s all Kenny’s been able to talk about for the last whole fucking year. And didn’t you hear about Reigns?”

_Reigns?_

Cody waved a dismissive hand. He walked around Sami and kneeled down next to Dean. He grabbed Dean by the collar of his shirt and pulled him forcefully up. Dean blinked at him, limp in the other man’s grasp, too tired to even try to fight.

“Roman?” he murmured, only half-aware he was even speaking. What the man with the noose around his neck had said echoed in his head, over and over again. “You’ve heard…about Roman?”

Cody arched an eyebrow. “I can see what people dream, under my spells,” he said. “How long has it been since your ‘brothers’ abandoned you? Three years, yeah? I almost had to applaud Seth, when I heard what he did. I always thought you’d be the one to bring it all toppling down, everyone always said how unstable you were, but no, it was the pretty doe-eyed kid who finally wised up. Who would’ve thought?”

His arm felt as heavy as stones, but somehow Dean managed to lift it and curl his fingers loosely into Cody’s jacket. He trembled with the effort. “What…did you hear…about Roman?” he demanded, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Cody laughed. He let go of Dean’s shirt. Dean tried to hold on to Cody’s jacket but simply did not have the strength, and he tumbled back to the ground. Cody stood up. “Hang ‘em high, Hangman.”

Hangman Adam Page smirked. “Don’t try to order me around, Codes, you’re not the boss. But…with pleasure.”

He raised his hands, and that was when a sudden, powerful gust of wind hit them, blowing away the mist and sending Cody and Page flying. Dean hunched down instinctively, throwing an arm around Sami, but the wind did not seem to touch him, except to ruffle his hair a bit. The world came into abrupt focus and, just like that, all his weakness and exhaustion was gone. He gasped, for a moment unable to move, and then, tentatively, he lifted his head.

He wondered, distantly, if this was what being in the eye of a hurricane was like—around them the winds raged and howled, bending even the tall, sturdy pines, whipping the hanging corpses around in frenzied dances, blowing up dirt and leaves and rocks and fallen branches in thick plumes that spiraled around Dean and Sami and up into the skies. It was like they were in an invisible bubble, protected against the storm that had seemed to come out of nowhere, shattering Cody’s spell and tossing him and the other man like they were no more than paper dolls.

The winds died down just as suddenly as they had come, and when the dust had settled Dean saw Cody Rhodes and Hangman Page lying limp several feet away at the base of a tree.

A voice boomed across the forest. “Cody Rhodes, Brandi Rhodes, Hangman Adam Page, you are all under arrest.”

***

_Hunter was hunched over his desk, reading a letter by candlelight. He glanced up when Seth walked into the study, and the slight crease in his brow immediately put Seth on edge, despite the fact that it smoothed over quickly as the King smiled._

_“Why, Seth. You’re actually here tonight, that’s good to see.”_

_Seth paused, frowning. Hunter’s voice was genial, calm, but there was an unmistakable cutting edge to the words._

_“So I am,” Seth said, cautiously, lowering himself into one of the plush chairs in front of Hunter’s desk. “You wanted to see me?”_

_Hunter studied him for a moment, his hands folded on the desk, over the letter. Seth caught a glimpse of AJ’s seal at the bottom of the page, and he recognized the handwriting of New Sun’s Emperor. He started to ask about it, but something about the way Hunter was looking at him kept him silent. The flickering candlelight deepened the lines on Hunter’s face, turned his eyes to shadows, fathomless and unreadable._

_“You know,” Hunter said, his voice still friendly but now tinged with the faintest touch of sadness, “it used to be that I didn’t have to call for you to visit me.”_

_Bemused and feeling like he was standing quite suddenly on the edge of a precipice, over which one wrong step would send him tumbling, free-falling into endless space, Seth chose his words carefully. “You’re very busy. I don’t want to just drop in on you unannounced, interrupt your work.”_

_“Seth, part of my work is supposed to be preparing you to take my place. It’s hard for me to do that when you’re not here.”_

_Seth didn’t have a response to that, so he sat mute. He wondered if Finn was here in this room, somewhere in the shadows, unseen and unfelt. There was a strange comfort in that thought. He thought of Neville, and he thought of the Demon’s pallid eyes and susurrus voice._ You need not fear anything anymore.

_“Where is it you go? You have a tendency to wander off, but the last two weeks you’ve hardly been seen here in the castle at all. Joey and Jaime tell me you leave in the early morning and don’t return until after nightfall. With all that’s been going on, I don’t like never knowing where you are.”_

_Seth shrugged. “I just visit the cities, go out riding. I’m never far, really.”_

_Hunter was quiet for a long moment. “There was an attempt on Stephanie’s life not long ago, and who ordered the hit is still unknown. Charlotte feels she is being stalked by someone, someone she fears possesses black magic, someone who may be lurking around this castle, right under my nose. I need you_ here _, Seth. I need you at my side.” He still spoke calmly, but his voice had hardened._

_It wasn’t that something within Seth snapped; it was more like something within him uncoiled, like a snake that had been tread upon, hissing and ready to strike. “Why?” he asked coldly. “What exactly am I expected to do? I have a lofty title, but no actual power. You made certain of that.”_

_Hunter’s expression did not change, but his hands balled into fists, clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. His calm had become a deadly stillness. Even the shadows playing on his face no longer seemed to move, blackness marring his skin and concealing his eyes. “The power I have given you is allowing you to be here at my side. I chose you, Seth. No king of this land before me has chosen for himself an heir, because always the throne was taken by another, never was it passed down. But no one shall take it from_ me _, and so I knew I had to choose someone to be my heir. And I knew, when I saw you, that you were the one. I_ chose _you, and that is a power no one else in this land could ever dream of having. You are to be here at my side, to be taught how to rule as I have, to hold onto power as I have learned to do. My rule, my power, is to be_ yours _. Is there something about that you do not understand? Is that not_ good _enough for you?”_

_There was a tightening in Seth’s chest. His breathing was becoming strained, difficult. He reached up, instinctively, and put a hand over his chest. His heart was pounding._

_Hunter rose to his feet. He seemed to loom over Seth, half in shadow, as imposing and implacable and eternal as the monolith of the castle itself, towering above the lands of the World Kingdom. It felt like there were iron chains around Seth’s chest, tightening and tightening and tightening. Dimly, he could still hear Hunter speaking._

_“I have given you everything, Seth. I plucked you from the streets, from the foolish and pointless ambitions of your friends, and I gave you the power and prestige you always coveted.”_

_He couldn’t breathe. He clutched at his chest, gasping and wheezing, hardly noticing as he slid off the chair and hit the floor. Black spots bloomed before his eyes. He grabbed at the edge of the desk, tried to pull himself back up, but he had no strength._

_“It is your duty to be here at my side, to learn as I teach you, to follow and obey me. It is your_ obligation _to me, Seth. You take advantage of the freedoms I have granted you and you neglect that obligation. You insult me. Everything you have I have given you, and everything you want, all the power you desire, it is mine to give you and only mine to give you. But what gratitude have you ever shown me? What gratitude have you_ ever _shown me, Seth?”_

_Seth caught a glimpse of Hunter’s face, cold and shadowed and hard as stone, before darkness swallowed all._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2019, everyone! Yes, this story is still alive!! I've just been...so busy lately. So busy I've had this done for like a week but had no time to get around to editing it, lol. But I'm still very much invested in this, so I hope you guys are, too, haha. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	11. Until Everything Burns

_Seth woke slowly, reluctantly, consciousness coming and going in fits and starts until his body finally surrendered to the inevitable and he opened his eyes. Pale morning light revealed that he was in his room. The curtains had been drawn around his bed, a thin barrier between himself and the rest of his bedchamber._

_He sat up gingerly, wincing at the sharp sting of pain in his chest. He tried to take shallow breaths, but that didn’t help much. He felt bruised, battered, on the inside._

_His coat, tunic, and boots had been removed, but he was still dressed in the same shirt and pants he had been wearing—last night? How long had he been unconscious? He was terribly thirsty and hungry, and he needed to urinate quite badly._

_He stumbled to the privy, the thick scarlet carpet swallowing the sound of his bare feet. He wondered, dimly, who had brought him back to his room, undressed him, and put him in bed. Hunter? Joey and Jaime? One of the servants?_

_Reemerging a few minutes later, he paused, looking around. The bedclothes and the canopy of the bed were the same deep red hue as the carpet. Hanging on the walls were tapestries displaying scenes of quiescent forests and fields of flowers juxtaposed with tapestries depicting scenes of battle, soldiers and sorcerers clashing in flurries of steel and magic. Next to his bed hung a tapestry showing a young dark-haired sorcerer surrounded by flame. Hunter had had that one made for Seth’s birthday last year._

_The limestone statuette of the dog Sami had given him was on the bedside table, along with several unlit candles. The mahogany chest where he kept his ceremonial clothes—and Finn’s black roses—sat at the foot of his bed, its gilded edges throwing off tiny flashes of sunlight. A delicate classical vase decorated with images of hunting dogs—a gift from Stephanie—stood on top of the small bookcase on the other side of the room. Beside it was the small glass vase in which he had put the white roses he’d picked, first to tell Finn he wanted to meet, then to tell Finn that the answer was yes._

_He walked over to the bookcase. Most of his books were kept in his small personal library, but his favorites he kept in here. They were all fiction books, fantastical tales of monsters and heroes and legendary sorcerers like Hogan and Savage and Sammartino. Like his books on magic, most of them had been given to him by Hunter. The first of these Hunter had gifted him was called “The Winter King,” a story about a young man and woman who, when their lands are cursed by an eternal winter, must find the titular Winter King and bargain with him to bring back the spring. He had been…touched, almost, when Hunter gave it to him. He had never expected such gestures from the King of Kings. Hunter had confessed to him that it was one of his favorite books, and after Seth had finished it they had spent hours discussing it. It had been a nice moment, a moment when he had almost felt as if perhaps Hunter was more than he seemed._

_Seth found “The Winter King” and pulled it out. He looked at it, standing there in the morning light, every breath agony._

_This was not the only time he had made Hunter angry. After the first time, he had wondered dully how close Hunter had come to killing him. He had been frightened. He had known Hunter’s power, had seen Hunter use it, but before then he had never really_ understood _it. Hunter called his magic “Master of Puppets.” It allowed him to control others like puppets on strings, command their limbs, their speech, their organs. He could, for instance, stop someone’s lungs from working, just long enough for them to pass out on the floor of his study._

I have given you everything, Seth.

_Sudden, violent rage exploded the book into flames in his hands. His eyes glowed with the same molten light, his face twisting._

I plucked you from the streets, from the foolish and pointless ambitions of your friends, and I gave you the power and prestige you always coveted.

_Power and prestige. A nice room, fancy clothes, hundreds and hundreds of books, an endless supply of money, was that prestige? Standing bored and useless at the King’s right hand as he sat on his throne, gazing contemptuously down on the small folk, was that power? He offered his input, but he made no decisions, had no real authority. He was a prop, stood up at the King’s side, a message to all others that Hunter would not surrender his throne except of his own volition. A paper prince with a paper crown. He was not an heir; he was a doll, to be painted up and clothed to look just like Hunter. He was here to maintain the rule of the King, even after the King was gone._

_Hate and frustration and fury burst out in a trembling scream. He hurled the burning book at the floor, ashes and bits of blackened paper flying, and with a great_ whoosh _the entire bookcase ignited. Hungry tongues of flame caught on the tapestries and gobbled them up. In a matter of seconds there was a wall of fire in front of him, hellish heat and smoke engulfing the room, the flames dancing around him but never quite touching him. His skin blazed, as if he was burning from within, and he was, the pain lost in the inferno. For a moment, he saw the whole castle in flames. He saw Hunter, sitting on his great throne, consumed. He saw Stephanie, writhing and screaming, as her skin blackened and melted from her bones. He saw the World Kingdom, and all its people, burning. Vicious triumph came with this vision, a heady sense of ultimate, insuperable power._

_Let them burn. He would stand in the ashes after and laugh. Perhaps Finn would be there, smiling that sun-bright smile._

_Let that be the gratitude Hunter demanded._

_“Seth? Your Majesty? Seth!”_

_It was Jaime’s voice, panicked, terrified. Seth whipped his head around and could just barely see him and Joey through the smoke, standing in the doorway to his bedchamber. Fire blocked their entry._

_Hunter’s little watchdogs, there to watch Seth’s movements about the castle and report them back to the King, incompetent even at that. Mindless puppets, wooden and hollow. Better off as kindling, really._

_The flames leaped out at them, chasing them back. They were coughing, Jaime trying to call his name again, overwhelmed by the smoke. Their lungs burning. Seth could see them suffocating, overtaken by the fire, destroyed, roasted alive. He hated them, as he hated this room, those books, those tapestries, this castle. Burn, let it all burn._  

_He took a step toward the door. Glass shattered, and it was like a thousand shards stabbed into Seth’s chest; he screamed again, this time in pain, and collapsed to his knees. His magic wavered and the flames licked hungrily at his body. He cried out again and jerked back, beginning to cough as smoke invaded his already wounded lungs. The heat was suddenly unbearable._

_“Your Majesty!”_

_Seth, hacking and in anguish, reached out to extinguish the fire. For a moment he thought he wouldn’t have enough strength, and maybe he would burn himself alive as well as his two ineffectual personal guards—watchdogs was what they really were, there to watch his movements and report them to the King—wouldn’t_ that _just be the perfect culmination to this mess he had gotten himself into because he had been foolish enough to believe he could outsmart the King of Kings, the man some had called the Cerebral Assassin in his youth, and others called The Game, because he played men like chess pieces. Then a surge of his power washed over the room and the flames died, snuffed out cleanly and all at once. Seth was able to breathe again._

_Jaime and Joey rushed to Seth, pulling their shirts over their mouths to try and stave off the smoke and ashes in the air. “Your Majesty?” Jaime said. Neither man seemed willing to touch Seth; they hovered at arm’s length from the Prince, identical expressions of concern and wariness on their faces. “What happened?”_

_Seth ignored them. He had destroyed half his room, he saw. The bookcase and the books it had contained were little more than piles of ash. The clay vase had melted to a shapeless lump. Soot stained the wall and the carpet. The little glass vase he had kept the white roses in was what had broken. Shards of glass were scattered in the ashes on the floor. His desk had been reduced to a charred husk. One of the curtains over the window had been half burned away._

_The window was open, and a breeze had picked up, clearing away some of the smoke and carrying in blessed fresh air. Joey and Jaime, apparently deciding it was safe to get close to him, kneeled down on either side of him._

_“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Jaime asked, anxious, his voice hoarse from the smoke. “What happened? How did—”_

_Seth silenced him with a look. “Leave me.”_

_“Your Majesty—”_

“Leave me!” _He screamed it, his voice cracking, and Jaime and Joey scrambled away like startled mice, leaving Seth in the ashes of his rage._

***

Cody managed to get up onto his knees. Blood was pouring down his face from a nasty cut across his temple.

 _“Lethal,”_ he hissed.

“Now, now, Codes, I think we’re pretty good friends by now, you can call me Jay.” The man was stocky, bald, and dark-skinned, dressed in a bright red tunic, sky-blue breeches, and a flowing cape stripped red and blue. Colorful feathers decorated the cape across his shoulders. He smiled. “And you there, Hangman, King Dalton has been looking for you. He was a bit hurt that you would scorn his hospitality and run away with your friend here.”

Hangman Page was back on his feet. His clothes had been ripped and begrimed but he seemed unharmed. He scowled at Jay Lethal, incensed. The temperature dropped drastically, the sudden change making Dean shiver. Page’s veins had turned pitch-black, standing out starkly against his skin. His eyes had turned black, too, swirling darkness swallowing the whites and irises. He was a handsome man, and somehow this change did not take away from his beauty, seeming rather to emphasize it, turn it into a brutal, deadly thing, like the beauty of a raging storm.

The corpses hanging from the trees began to thrash and wail again. Dean clung closer to Sami, both of them cowering like cornered animals. The sunlight seemed to fade, as if dusk had come on premature, a wintry chill settling over the air as darkness swallowed the day. Black magic wove itself in a heavy shroud around them, stealing warmth and light as the energies of the dead invaded the world of the living. The cold cut bone-deep, soul-deep, slowing the blood and numbing the flesh, leaving Dean breathless and shivering, a primitive terror clamoring from the tenebrous depths of animal instinct and threatening to destroy his reason.

They had to get out of here.

But he could barely move, and Gods, the _screaming_ , it was so _cold,_ he couldn’t feel his hands, every breath burned his lungs, Sami was shaking uncontrollably against him—

Lethal seemed unperturbed. The wind picked up again with sudden violence, his cape flapping, the colorful feathers whipped into a frenzied bird-of-paradise dance. It was blessedly warm, white magic slicing cleanly through the force of black magic, and again it seemed to surround Dean and Sami in a protective tunnel. Miniature tornadoes were forming around them and around Lethal, and Dean realized, maybe belatedly, that Lethal was a sorcerer of wind.

Hangman Page spread his hands. At first Dean thought that maybe Cody had cast his dream-spell again; what looked like tendrils of mist crept out from between the trees, gathering beneath the feet of the screaming corpses. Then the globs of mist started to take the shape of men, and Dean understood it was not mist at all he was seeing. The spirits of the hanged dead took form before his eyes, pallid and diaphanous and barely recognizable as human, heads cocked at angles only possible on broken necks. They began to move forward, toward Lethal and Page.

Dean’s heart had turned to ice in his chest. The dead were all around them, not empty, rotting vessels of flesh being manipulated like puppets, but souls, tied to the living world by chains of magic that kept them enslaved, given a kind of ghastly tenuous reality by that very magic.

Bray Wyatt’s voice whispered in his ear, tittering. _The dead do not suffer the living, child._

“Dean?” Sami whispered, his voice hoarse and scared. With Lethal’s magic shielding them from the full brunt of the necromancer’s, he was no longer shaking so badly, but he was very pale and he was hugging himself tightly. “We—we have to stop this. Kevin…”

 _Kevin. Right, Kevin._ Dean shook his head, slowly, not in negation but in simple helplessness. He had used too much of his magic already, and he didn’t think Sami even realized, in his beleaguered state, how much Dean had taken from him in order to do what he had done to that woman.

Lethal spread his hands in imitation of Hangman Page, and the winds howled. Cody was holding on to a tree for dear life, his head ducked against the storm of flying debris, but Hangman stood firm against the gale, his long blond hair billowing around his face.

“They’re whispering your name, Jay,” Page said. His voice had become grave, hollow, carrying over the screams of the corpses and the howling of the wind. “The dead do not suffer the living.”

Dean shivered, Wyatt’s voice echoing in his head again, murmuring those same words.

Something was wrong.

He pulled himself up onto his knees, trembling with the strain. The dead were closing in, slowly, but they were not closing in on Lethal, they were closing in on Page. They were starting to look more solid, more like people, more _real_ , losing their mist-like quality and gaining cohesion, distinctiveness. Dean had never seen that happen before.

Dean could feel Page’s magic, and he recognized that it was all wrong. Black magic fell like the darkest night in the deepest winter, when all the world sleeps and no man or beast can survive exposed, still and silent and implacable as death. It did not rage, swirling in wild flurries like a blizzard. It was as if Page’s and Lethal’s energies had intermingled, melding together in a chaos of opposing magics threatening to unbalance and rip each other apart. Lethal felt it, Dean saw; he finally looked frightened, bewildered. He had lost control of his own power, or had almost lost it. Page had lost control completely, but he did not seem to be aware of it. His black eyes were locked on Lethal, empty as yawning caverns, his face slack.

Then the dead were upon him, and he began to scream, a high, trembling, awful wail that shattered the shrieking of the corpses into abrupt silence. He collapsed to the ground as the ghosts seized him, and through half-solid bodies Dean watched the necromancer writhe and convulse, his skin shriveling and turning white as bone, his eyes rolling up into the back of his head, spectral hands pawing and tearing at him, almost gentle, ripping out his life-force in pieces.

“Adam!” Cody cried, clinging to his tree, looking on with stark terror.

Lethal stood stunned, motionless and wide-eyed. The winds blew bitter and unceasing around him.

Sami caught Dean’s arm in a death grip. “What the hell is happening?”

“His magic,” Dean whispered. His voice sounded faraway to his own ears. “It turned on him. It’s killing him.” There was a pit in his stomach. He remembered Seth, burning from within with a fever that would not die. As if his own magic had turned on him.

Sami’s grip on him tightened. It was painful, and Dean was already hurting all over, but he said nothing. He couldn’t seem to look away from Page. The man had stopped screaming, had stopped moving, caressed and smothered by the gentle, relentless hands of the ghosts of the men he had killed and hung up like grotesque trophies. His eyes were wide open, bulging from sunken sockets.

“Adam!” Cody cried again, pitifully. “Stop it! You’ve got to break the spell!”

Sami hauled himself to his feet. Dean looked up at him, alarmed, about to tell him to get back down, but then Sami clapped his hands together, once, forcefully, and the magic shattered like glass. Everything stopped. The wind died, the spirits flickered and disappeared. The day brightened, as if a great cloud had been blocking the sun and had at last passed along.

Sami’s eyes flashed black. Just for an instant. Dean saw it, though it happened so fast he was left wondering if he’d really seen it at all.

Lethal staggered, but managed to stay on his feet. He whirled, drawing out a short, elegant blade that had been hidden under his coat and cape. His brow furrowed when he saw Sami. Sami looked back at him, panting and shivering in the lingering cold.

“Did…did you…?”

Sami grit his teeth. “I broke the spells. Yours, and Page’s. Is he still alive?”

Looking more bewildered than ever, Lethal glanced back at Page. The necromancer lay pallid and motionless, his eyes glazed over. Cody rushed to his side.

“Adam, Adam, oh Gods.” Cody pressed a shaking hand to Page’s chest, over his heart, and held his other hand close over Page’s mouth. Searching for a heartbeat, or a breath. He must have found signs of life, because his shoulders slumped with a sigh of relief. “Gods,” he whispered again. “What the hell happened? Why did—?”

“Is he still alive?” Sami demanded, his voice uneven but harsh. Cody jerked as if slapped. He stared at Sami, as white as his unconscious friend.

“He’s alive,” Lethal said. “His life-force is weak, but it’s still there.”

Sami walked past Lethal, marching up to where Cody kneeled over Hangman Page, and, without breaking stride, kicked Cody right in the face. Cody, hunched protectively over Page, his gaze locked warily on Sami’s, saw the blow coming and flinched back, but not in time. Sami’s boot struck Cody square in the nose, and Dean heard a solid _crunch_. Cody cried out in pain and fell back, clutching at his now bleeding and broken nose. Sami was on him in an instant, slamming Cody back into the ground, pinning his arms and straddling him. He had pulled out a dagger—Dean recognized it as one of his own. He checked and saw that one of the daggers he kept strapped to his belt was gone. When had Sami taken that? Sami had the blade pressed to Cody’s throat.

“Ouch,” Lethal remarked, wincing sympathetically.

“Where is he?” Sami demanded. His breathing was still heavy and his voice was still a bit unsteady, but the threat in his tone was unmistakable.

Cody scowled up at him, his gaze darting back to Page. “Where is who?”

“Kevin,” Sami spat out. “You have him, and you have our horses, our wagon. Where are they?”

Cody sneered. He hauled back and spit an impressive glob of snot and blood into Sami’s face.

Sami cried out in frustration. He grabbed Cody’s hair and slammed his head into the ground, once, twice. _“Where is he?”_

Cody was laughing now, thick and hysterical. Sami, his face contorted in fury and desperation, raised the dagger, meaning to kill or wound, but a sudden, powerful gust of wind hit him with such force he was thrown off the other man, tumbling to the dirt with a painful _thud_. Lethal approached, his cape billowing out behind him as the winds picked up around him again. Dean tried to get to his feet, but anguish tore through him and he only succeeded in lurching forward onto his elbows.

“This Kevin,” the wind sorcerer said, “he wouldn’t happen to be Kevin Steen, would he?” He halted over Hangman’s lifeless form, placing his hands on his hips. “The power to break spells, that’s not a very common one. And here I thought you’d be smart enough never to come back here, El Generico, with or without a mask.”

Sami had been momentarily stunned, but he got back to his feet now, still clutching Dean’s dagger. “I have no idea who that is,” he snapped. He waved a hand at Cody, who was simply lying there, face smeared with blood and dirt and snot. “He has my friend somewhere. And my horse.”

Lethal cocked an eyebrow. “I heard you died, Generico. Some said Steen killed you.”

“I _told_ you, I have no idea who this ‘Generico’ is, and I don’t know who this ‘Kevin Steen’ is. I’m just…just a merchant.”

Lethal regarded him a moment, a faint crease in his brow betraying his doubt. At length, he snorted. He stepped around Page, bending down to grab Cody and haul him to his feet. Cody didn’t resist. “Well, Just-a-Merchant,” Lethal said amiably, “perhaps you’d like to come back with me to the castle as I deliver these three? You’ve been a great help in apprehending them, you and your friend over there, so maybe in return, we can offer you some help.”

***

_Finn was sitting by the river, working on another wood carving. He looked up as Seth emerged from the trees, and he smiled. It was perfunctory, no real cheer or warmth behind it. Seth hesitated, just for an instant, aware of an unnatural chill in the air. He crossed his arms over his chest, and again he wondered if Finn had been there, in Hunter’s study, last night—no, not Finn, the Demon, the dark thing inside him. The thing that had killed Neville—he was certain of this, although he had never tried to question Finn about it again—the thing that had awoken his suppressed black magic with only a touch. Finn was himself now, but Seth could feel the Demon’s presence in that chill that settled on his skin and wormed its way down his spine, making him shiver. It wasn’t exactly frightening, but it was disconcerting, out here in the quiet vastness of the forest, the sun just beginning its descent in the west._

_He walked over to Finn and sat beside him in the grass, on the edge of where the ground began to slope downwards, eventually falling away into the river. He had gathered his hair up in a bun, but as usual curls that refused to be restrained fell into his eyes; he brushed them back with a broad sweep of his hand._

_“Is that another bear?” Seth asked, indicating the carving Finn was working on. It was smaller than the other bear he had made, and this one was in a sitting position._

_Finn nodded. “I’m making cubs. There’ll be two of them.” His usual airiness was absent, each word layered with a thin permafrost of tension._

_Seth pulled out the bundle of cloth from his pocket. Inside it were several pieces of what had been a black rose, hardened to glass. “I found this on my pillow this morning,” he said, as if Finn would not know, spreading the cloth and the pieces on the ground between them._

_Finn looked down at them. “I was angry._ He _was angry. The rose shattered in my hand—in his hand. I left it for you anyway.”_

You wanted me to see. _It didn’t need to be said, so he said nothing, though a part of him wanted to ask:_ Why do you care? _But he already knew the answer, didn’t he? And he didn’t really want to hear it, did he?_

_Seth had thought of Finn’s eyes like oceans before, impossibly blue, fathomlessly deep, calm on the surface, endlessly turning, changing, raging beneath. It had been a hot muggy day and there had been as yet so sign of relief, but here beside Finn it was cool. The remaining light of the day seemed faintly muted, though the sun glared down at them from just above the tree-line behind the cottage. Black magic weaved into the ambience surrounding the man, its influence working subtly at Seth’s senses, altering his perception of the world. Familiar but alien. The Demon’s magic, but maybe Finn’s, too, both intertwined and indistinguishable._

I shouldn’t be here. _It was not the first time he had thought it, not the first time he had felt the urge to run, to get the hell away from here, from this man he barely knew. A necromancer. A demon. If he closed his eyes and listened, really listened, he might be able to hear the laments of the dead bound to Finn Balor, every soul Finn had ever risen and used. He used to be able to hear the voices of those that hung around Jimmy Jacobs, relentless, susurrus sounds of sorrow and fear and hate. Sometimes they had kept him up at night, especially after he had started to hear different voices, voices bound to_ him. 

_As all those other times, Seth stayed where he was._

_“He usually doesn’t go that far.” He placed a hand over his chest. Breathing still hurt, though the pain had diminished. “But I’ve made him angry, before. He has to remind me which one of us has all the power.”_

_Finn set down his wood carving and stood up. Seth watched him walk toward his cottage, circle around to his small garden of black roses. He plucked the head off a rose and brought it back to Seth._

_“He has all the power,” Finn said, the words hard and sharp as the pieces of the broken rose he had left for Seth last night. “But only for now.”_

_Seth met his gaze and nodded, slowly. He reached to take the rose, but instead settled his hand over Finn’s. Finn’s eyes widened slightly, and this time his smile was genuine._

_That smile, and the feel of his skin, caused something to unravel within Seth. A murky desperation he hadn’t known had been there, a grasping need for…something. Maybe this was the reason why he had come here, although he had known it was not a good idea, that it would be safer to stay in the castle, to stay in Hunter’s sight, for a while, until Hunter’s anger seemed to defuse. Maybe this was why he simply had not been able to stay, pacing restlessly across the spare room he had been given while they tried to clean up his bedchamber, wandering aimlessly through the gardens. This crawling tension beneath his skin, making him want to leap right out of it, to shed it like a snake._

_He reached out to touch Finn’s cheek, saw blue eyes widen again, lips parting slightly, and before second thoughts could induce reason to reassert itself Seth leaned in to claim those lips._

_For a moment Finn was still, shocked, and then he kissed Seth back, taking Seth’s face in his hands. The rose drifted to the ground between them, momentarily forgotten. As the kiss deepened that muddled, scrambling desperation in Seth released, the delicate brush of Finn’s fingertips and the slow, exploratory glide of Finn’s tongue over his own unwinding the pressure into a low thrum of pleasure that made him sigh. He curled his hand around the back of Finn’s neck, pulling him closer._

_They broke apart in an echoed gasp. Finn had a dreamy, almost awed look on his face, faint crimson tinting his cheeks, and Seth could not help but smile, touching Finn’s kiss-swollen lips. Lashes fluttered over brilliant blue eyes._

_“We should go inside,” he suggested, and Finn, seemingly unable to speak, nodded._

_Seth led them into the cottage. He left the broken rose by the river on the cloth he had brought it wrapped in, but he took the freshly picked rose, placing it on the nightstand. The fading light of day cast long shadows across the floor. Seth waved a hand and ignited a fire inside the belly of the wood-stove, engulfing the little cottage in soft red-orange warmth._

_He turned, meeting Finn’s gaze. Finn was watching him, standing near the door, waiting, perhaps, for a sign of what Seth wanted him to do. Seth untied the ribbon in his hair, letting it cascade freely across his shoulders. He sat down on the edge of the bed and held out a hand, offering. Finn came to him and took it, sitting down beside him. For a moment they just sat there, together. Seth looked down at their hands, loosely entwined, a tentative, fragile bond between them. Equally tentative was the gentle pull of Finn’s fingers in his hair, equally fragile the feather-light brush of a thumb along the line of his jaw. Seth once more met Finn’s eyes, darkened with desire but dubious, uncertain of what Seth was asking of him, what Seth desired. Seth found_ he _was certain what he desired, at least in this moment, and he leaned in to kiss him again, softer this time, without insistence, opening himself to Finn, easy and eager. His hand skimmed down over Finn’s chest, catching the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat. Finn broke their kiss to pull his shirt up over his head and toss it to the floor. He reached out to push Seth’s coat down off his shoulders, and Seth shrugged out of the suddenly restrictive garment and threw it somewhere near Finn’s shirt. His own shirt soon followed._

_He let Finn push him gently down onto the bed, opening his legs to let Finn slide between them, and then Finn was over him, capturing his mouth in another, more heated kiss. Seth fingers played over Finn’s bare skin, tracing the contours of his body, the curve of his spine, the hard ridges of his abdomen, soaking in this rising heat between them, setting off sparks wherever they touched. He wrapped one leg around Finn’s middle, drawing them together, the pulsing hardness trapped inside the coarse fabric of Finn’s pants brushing against his own restrained erection. He swallowed Finn’s broken moan. Finn trailed fevered kisses down his neck, finding a sensitive spot near his collarbone that made Seth gasp, arching his hips, their bodies moving together in a disjointed rhythm that sent tongues of flame crackling through him._

_Finn kissed a path down his chest, teasing his nipples with little nips and flicks of tongue, making Seth shudder. He licked a slow trail down Seth’s navel, palming lightly Seth’s straining arousal, and Seth’s hips bucked into the touch of their own accord, a sharp breath caught on the sudden jolt of sensation._

_Finn drew back to regard him, flushed and breathless, his eyes half-lidded and dark. He was beautiful. Seth wondered, briefly, how he looked in those perfect eyes, spread out on the bed beneath Finn._

_Finn reached down to untie Seth’s laces, fumbling somewhat, his hands nor quite steady. He searched Seth’s face, looking, perhaps, for a sign of reluctance or ambivalence. Seth lifted his lips to help Finn ease off his breeches. Finn paused again, his gaze raking over Seth, admiring, ravenous, and Seth had a moment of self-consciousness that was quickly overcome with the sensation of Finn’s lips on his inner thighs. Fingertips grazed his skin, spreading his legs a little wider._

_For a moment, memories of Dean tried to intrude, but they were chased away completely, along with all other conscious thought, when Finn took him into his mouth. Seth let his head fall back with a gasp, gripping at the pillows, the velvet heat setting off electric pulses of pleasure that released themselves in breathy, shuddering moans. A hand slid between his thighs and a finger touched his entrance, circling, caressing, and then sliding in. Muscles clenched briefly against the intrusion, a shiver going through Seth’s frame as he bucked into the sensation, thrusting up into Finn’s mouth. It was too much, but not nearly enough, he wanted more, he_ needed _more—_

_As if Finn could sense this, he pulled back and kissed Seth, deeply, letting Seth taste himself on his tongue. His finger withdrew, teasing the sensitive skin._

_“Is this what you want?” he murmured huskily against Seth’s lips._

_“Yes.” His response came between panting breaths. “Yes.”_

_Finn stepped off the bed to tug off his pants. The firelight glowed softly on his pale skin, and Seth thought, again, that he was beautiful, a languid wave of lust fueling the blaze under his skin. Finn grabbed a small jar from underneath the bed. He uncapped it as he crawled back onto the bed and dipped two fingers inside. It was olive oil; Seth recognized the smell._

_His brows lifted. “You always keep that there?”_

_Finn grinned, a little self-consciously. “Only in the last few weeks.”_

_“Bit presumptuous, aren’t you?”_

_Finn laughed. Seth smiled back, and a moment of genuine affection suffused the heat of arousal with a sweet golden glow. Finn pressed a tender, lingering kiss to the inside of Seth’s right thigh. One oil-slicked finger caressed him gently, tracing its previous path across nerve-tingling feeling before easing into him. Seth closed his eyes and let his head fall back again as the careful strokes—two fingers now, stretching him, sweet, implacable pressure—found that sensitive spot inside him, sending white-hot sparks straight to his throbbing cock._

_It wasn’t long before it was more than he could take. “Finn.” A plea, maybe. Or a demand._

_Finn looked as if he was on the edge of his own restraint, watching Seth, enraptured. He kneeled between Seth’s sprawled legs, dipping his fingers into the jar again slicking up his cock, anticipation or nerves or both making his hand shake just slightly. His palm settled on Seth’s stomach and he moved to join them together, Seth moving to meet him, holding his breath until it was driven out in an explosive exhalation as Finn pressed into him with one long, slow stroke. Finn’s low groan vibrated through him. Finn was still for a moment, perhaps as much for himself as for Seth, their heavy breaths mingling in the quiet. Then he began to move, bending over Seth, finding a slow, building rhythm that stole Seth’s breath. Seth wrapped his legs around the other man’s waist, his hands finding Finn’s shoulders, searching for balance, to steady himself against the deep unwinding pleasure. Falling into a cadence of sharp gasps and quivering moans that echoed the sounds Finn made. The entire world narrowed down to the rocking motion of Finn’s hips and the sounds of flesh on flesh, to the sharp, thick pulses of heat that blazed away all thought and memory._

_Seth cried out as Finn drove deeper, harder, the tight-bound edge of his control beginning to unravel, fingers digging into Seth’s hipbones. Pleasure building to the edge of agony, his back arching as he took Finn’s increasingly frantic thrusts. His leaking cock throbbing between them, desperate for friction, for release, and when finally Finn wrapped a hand around him it only took a few rough strokes for him to come apart, Finn tumbling down over that edge soon after, calling out Seth’s name._

_They collapsed around each other in a tangle of sweaty limbs and ragged breaths. Finn nuzzled his face into Seth’s neck, placing lazy kisses across his throat and collarbone. Seth traced idle patterns along Finn’s spine, his heartbeat slowly winding down, the searing heat inside him faded to the serene glow of banked embers. The dull ache in his chest had started up again, swelling and receding with the rise and fall of respiration, but the soft kisses and touches Finn covered him with were a welcome distraction._

_At length Finn rolled off him, the bed bouncing a little as he collapsed supine onto it. There wasn’t quite enough room for the both of them, and Seth found himself squashed uncomfortably between Finn and the wall. He shifted onto his side and threw an arm around Finn’s middle, snuggling his face between the other man’s shoulder and neck. An intimacy that was treading a boundary he was unwilling to cross, maybe, but exhaustion was creeping up on him and at the moment he just didn’t have the energy to care._

_Breathing in the scent of Finn’s skin and the scent of the cottage around them, wood and smoke and earth, he thought of Dean again. Of long nights lying with his head on Dean’s chest, listening to his heart, to the steady cadence of his breathing, and sometimes to the low rumble of Dean’s voice, comforting sounds, sounds that made him think of home, although they’d never had a home, either of them, not really._

_He pushed the thoughts away, trying to ignore that hollow feeling they left, the deep, low, constant aching in the pit of himself._

_“Are you all right?” Finn murmured, carding his fingers through Seth’s hair._

_Seth smiled faintly against his shoulder. “Yes.” He wasn’t sure it was true, maybe it had never been true, but it didn’t really matter._

_There was silence between them, then, and before long Seth was drifting off to sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left you guys hanging for like, three months, but at least I came back with a sex scene! xD I'm still kinda new to writing sex scenes, but I didn't think this turned out half bad, so hey. 
> 
> It's going to feel...strange, continuing this now that Dean has left. It feels like so much has changed since the beginning of this year. I'm gonna miss Dean, but I'm glad we got the years we did, and I hope for good things for him. On a happier note, Seth is finally Universal Champion, Finn is our IC champ on SD, and I couldn't be more proud!
> 
> Love y'all, and I hope you liked this chapter. :3


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